Hunters and Freaks
by icybluegoddessfarie
Summary: WINCEST!Sam is 22 when tragedy strikes at Stanford. Reunited with Dean, he tries to ignore the memories that are dredged up from so long ago, but its a losing battle. And after the death of a loved one, all hell comes down on the Winchesters. Literally.
1. Prolouge

**Story: To The Forgotten and The Future**

**Author: Hey all! Happy New Year! (Even if its not so good, cause I know that its not so happy for me either, so I hope a new SN story will make you feel all better!) **

**Warnings: Wincest! Yep, I love it too. Angst, and...well, its an M story, so expect naughty and evil things!**

R&R as well, cause i really like feedback and to hear what you think of how I protray charaters and such. I don't like to get too OC on you, so tell me what you think. Oh, and give me title ideas after you read a few chapters, cause I'm not sure about this one... ENJOY!

**Prologue: The First One**

Is there really a moment, a day in your life that drives you forward to choose your future? John Winchester would most likely have had to say 'yes', because anyone who knew him knew that he was only known as one of the best, if not _the_ best, hunters around because of the death of his wife.

Sam Winchester, his youngest, would not have agreed. Until he turned fifteen. But even then, huddling in his bed trying to banish vivid and taunting memories from the previous night, it would not have been wholly true. The events of one horrid night were maybe the catalyst to his sudden obsessive desire to _get the hell away from here_, but it certainly was not the first or last, or even most prominent. He would tell himself that it was the most deciding factor in his choice to leave hunter land, but even he knew he was lying…

Two months after he turned fifteen, Sam settled into a motel in Casper (damned fucked up name was not even remotely funny considering his life) Wyoming. There, after two weeks of attending Roosevelt High School, he started dating Mark, another sophomore in his class. He was taller than Sam (hard to believe now) and had spiked black hair and grey eyes.

They had a lot of fun together. Kissing, hanging out, laughing; Sam had never felt so at ease with someone he had only so recently met. It had been great seeing each other in class (the first time that Sam had ever passed notes to anyone) and after school at a small pizzeria and the park. Leaving randomly in the dead of night hung in the back of Sam's mind, but he had warned Mark about his 'temporary' situation. Still didn't make him feel like any less of an ass. Or hate his lifestyle any less.

But it was a good time in his life, and he knew that he would never forget Mark, who was his first boyfriend. His happiness was cut shorter than he expected, though, on the Friday night two weeks before Easter break.

Mark's mom had agreed to take them to the movies and they planned to see a new comedy that Sam would never remember the name of. It had been as awesome as any other time that Sam had hung out with Mark, but Mark had seemed distracted. After the flick was over, they shared a few kisses and Mark suggested they walk back to his house and Sam complied. They reached his home ten minutes later, and Sam saw that the driveway was empty. Mark said that his mom was probably on a 'date' with his dad, and Sam thought it wasn't so late that he had to leave yet, only about eight thirty.

Once they got inside the house, though…

Mark started acting strange. It wasn't noticeable at first, they had been making out, but he was rougher than usual. Sam knew something was really wrong when Mark pinned him to the bed.

"Mark?" he had questioned warily. He tried to pull his wrists free, but the raven's grip was stronger than he thought.

"Mark's not home at the moment," Mark smiled, and his grey eyes went obsidian. Sam inhaled sharply.

"What are you?" he asked the thing, "What did you do to Mark?"

"Nothing, Mark's just fine," the thing chuckled, "And if you don't know what I am, why should I give out free info?"

Sam glared, struggling harder, "What the hell do you want?"

It smiled widely, holding Sam down as if he were a feather, "To live without consequence," He got into Sam's face, whispering the next part, "But you can't always get what you want, can you?" He leaned in and licked at Sam's neck.

"What kind of answer is that?" Sam spat.

"Oh, you meant what do I want from you. You really should be more specific," It nipped the same skin it had licked.

"You," It paused to look into Sam's eyes, "I'm going to fuck."

XXXXXX

Sam came back to himself as he knocked on the door to their motel room. His legs felt a little wobbly, so he straightened himself as much as he could before Dean came and opened the door. Dean had an easy smirk on his face, a naughty question in his eyes that made Sam want to crawl into a hole and die. Repetitively.

He must have seen the nausea in Sam's face, and he immediately asked, "What's wrong?" as Sam brushed past him and into the room.

His dad was there, surprisingly enough. Seeing him sitting at the dining table (if you could call it that) with his journal and some other books open for speculation, triggered Sam's innate curiosity. Sam could ignore his growing painful emotions; his friend was obviously in trouble and needed help more than he did.

He sat at the chair diagonal from his father, hands grasping the wooden sides before saying, "Dad?"

"Hm?" John didn't look up from his books.

"Um…what kind of, uh, creature has black eyes and looks human?" Sam asked, getting straight to the point.

That got John's attention. His head snapped up and he looked Sam right in the eye, seeing something that he dreaded there. "Have you seen something like this?"

"Yeah," Sam breathed out, trying to control his voice, "I…I think that it possessed my friend,"

"Are you sure about the eyes?" John asked seriously.

"Yes." Sam said, just as gravely.

"Alright." John took a steadying breath. "Dean, get ready for a hunt. Sam, you tell me where your friend lives and you will stay put. DO NOT answer the door or phone unless you know it's me calling. Keep the salt lines up and stay awake while we're gone." John saw Sam nod and he grabbed his gun and journal before sliding on his boots and hopped into the Impala. Dean jumped in not three seconds afterward and asked,

"What are we hunting?" worriedly, seeing how shook up Sam and his father were.

"It's a demon." John said, pulling out of the lot.

XXXX

Dean and John had taken down their first demon ever that night, and were none the wiser to what had happened while Sam had been alone with the thing. Apparently the demon thought it was funnier to continuously taunt John about his wife and Dean about anything it could.

Sam had done his best to stuff the bad memory into a Fort Knox type box in his head, never to open it again. His mental health suffered slightly from all the repressing, but as long as Dean never figured it out, it was worth any extra pain. He didn't want pity, but he especially didn't want to see the disgust that might have been there, in those green eyes, had Dean known. A big part of Sam's heart told him that Dean would never have been disgusted with him, no matter what, but the small voice in his head told him otherwise, and he didn't want to find out. Ever.

A few weeks later, and he was back to being the moody teenager that Dean loved and taunted.

Three years later, and Sam left for Stanford. No explanations given.

Four years after he turned eighteen is when the life a hunter finally caught up with Sam Winchester again, and destiny was set on tearing his ass a new one.

XXXXXXXXX

Review and tell me what you liked and did not. It helps either way.

IcyBlue


	2. Voice Mails & Disapointment

**Chapter One: Voice Mails and Disappointment**

Sam had finished his last class of the day a little early. The sun was just beginning to set, and the orange glow shone off the bells in the Administration building's tower. His friend, Richie, had asked him to go for drinks and he was meeting him at the bar in half an hour. Jessica had a paper to work on, but she said that she might be in procrastinating mood and join them anyway. His other 'partner', Ben, was back at the condo that the three of them shared, and said that he wanted to stay in that night.

He'd had a good time at the bar, and was half-drunk when he walked back to the house. He hoped that Ben was in bed by this time, it was after one in the morning. Sam locked up when he came in, checking to see if Jessica was crashing there that night. The extra bed was empty, and he just assumed that she was with Darcy, her girlfriend, and went back to the bedroom that he and Ben shared. He raised an eyebrow when he saw that it was empty as well. Maybe he and Jessica had decided to head out together...

He shrugged to himself, and pulled off his jacket and fell back onto the bed, sighing as he closed his eyes. It had been a good day, and falling asleep alone seemed to be the only downer. It reminded him painfully of those times in hotel beds, and he wished absently for the sound of his brother's light breathing in the bed next to him. Not that they'd ever slept that close since Dean turned 14...

His brows twitched when he felt something wet hit his face. He felt another drop on his out stretched arm. It took his slightly buzzed mind a minute to think over the possibility that there might be a leak before he opened his eyes. Two still, dark, shapes were plastered to the ceiling, and he frowned at them before nearly screaming when they burst into flame.

His sanity exploded in that moment. Jess and Ben, his two lovers, were gutted and burning above him.

They say shock reverts a person's psyche. His father's voice, "Move, boy!" echoed in his head and out of pure muscle memory he forced himself to move unconsciously. Outside, he pulled out his cell, wiping the blood off his forehead, and called 911. He crumbled, sitting there on the curb just outside his burning home, and wondered if his father had felt the same.

His voice was steady as he answered the police's questions with all the made-up bullshit he could think of while tears were flowing down his cheeks. He made no effort to stop them. Three hours later, he was in his car and heading toward a motel fifty miles from Palo Alto. He was out as soon as he hit the bed, no more energy in his mind or body left to continue.

The next morning, he pulled out his cell and called his father for the first time in four years. The voice mail picked up. Sam called again in an hour. Same result. _For two days…_

He alternated between calling his father and Dean. He couldn't bring himself to leave a message. By day three, he was worried about them, thinking that maybe they had gotten themselves hurt.

Sam decided to go to Bobby's. He couldn't handle being around people right then, and knew that the grisly man would only ask the bare minimum of questions before letting him keep to himself. 450 miles – and thirty desperate phone calls – later, and he was at the familiar old scrap yard.

To say that Bobby was surprised was an understatement. Sam couldn't blame the man; he had seen what he looked like in the bathroom mirror of a greasy gas station.

"Sam? What are you doing here?" he asked, looking to see if John or Dean was with him. He looked more concerned than Sam had ever seen him before.

"I…I didn't have anywhere else to go,"

XXXXXXXXXXX

It was two days before Sam felt like functioning like a normal human being. Four before he would eat decently. But it was only two weeks before he surprised Bobby yet again.

"I found a hunt in Jacksonville," he announced that morning, after calling Dean and John again for good measure. He only called them once a day now and Bobby had also taken the liberty to leave a few very choice words on the boy's voice messages.

"Are you sure Sam?" Bobby asked carefully. "You really want to start this again? Alone?"

"Seems like it's the only thing I can do without someone innocent getting hurt because of me," Sam answered truthfully, not even trying to hide the guilt trip he was putting on himself. He had tried the normal thing, now it was time to get back in the hunter game and kill himself some nasties. His father would be so proud. _If he even acted as if I was alive anymore…_

Bobby nodded, knowing the pain of losing someone close. Knowing the desperate urge to kill the one responsible, or any that get in the way, to ease that pain and guilt.

"Your father taught you well. Stay sharp, and call me if you need any research help," Bobby said.

"I will," Sam nodded, getting ready to pack up his things and a few of the guns that Bobby had stored in his home. Once he had everything together, he turned back and started, "Bobby…"

"You come back when you're finished, you hear?" Bobby interrupted. Sam stilled for a moment, before offering the man the first smile he had in almost three weeks, and nodding.

"Thank you," he said softly, plopping into the driver's seat of his car and driving off into the early afternoon.

XXXXXXXXXX

Things went by like that for a month. A little of his sadness was repressed each day, but Sam was also forcing himself to deal with it. Hunts went pretty well, and he had given up trying to contact family members.

He could tell that Bobby was getting more agitated by the minute. Sam tried to act like it didn't effect him, but Bobby knew it was bullshit.

This was Sam's fifth hunt since he started living at Bobby's house, he realized as he took the gun from the trunk of one of Bobby's old junkyard cars. The ghost haunting this particular place was more vicious than usual, it seemed. Sam only had a few names of who it could be, but no real confirmation as to which one it was. He hoped that he could catch a glimpse of the angry spirit.

He tried not to think about the silence that accompanied him, the emptiness left by hunting alone. It had really choked him up on the first hunt he went on in Jacksonville. The 'culprit' had been a woman in white, a rather disturbing first case. He'd gotten through it relatively unscathed, but a lingering disquiet settled within his damaged heart.

He wished, like the infinite number of times over the last four years, that he was with Dean again. And again, he could ignore it, but it was getting harder to ignore any emotion these days.

He sighed and his jaw squared. Sam surveyed the perimeter, looking for entrances and exits. He saw a window that some local teens had broken into and looked inside through there. Cans and some broken bottles littered the floor in the main room, along with a small dark stain where a girl had been cut by a flying hook had been before they all high tailed it out of there. That had been a tedious conversion, with explanations blown out of proportion by their drugged out memories.

He busted open the side door and started rifling around; opening doors, looking through old desks and offices, and came to the floppy doors and peering in carefully. The grey doors lining the hall walls were the only thing neat and orderly left in the building. He started looking through the freezers, and paused when he got to his fifth one, and turned back to the floppy doors.

A man, stocky, pale-haired and blue eyed, stood with a nasty smile at the end of the hall.

One look in the ghost's menacing, mischievous eyes, and a cold stone settled in Sam's stomach.

It was then he knew that he was fucked.

With one psychic shove, Sam was thrown into the freezer and the door slammed shut behind him. Sam got to his feet quickly, and frantically surveyed his surrounding with his gun ready to fire. Other than a devious low chuckle, he was left alone.

And the air started to chill.

_Huh, must have turned the freezer back on,_ Sam thought while cursing himself for provoking the ghost. It really was the only way to be sure of who it was, but it was a dumb idea all the same. In twenty minutes time, he had tried everything he could to get the hell out of there, but to no avail.

Forty minutes in, and his feet and hands were numb, his breath visible.

An hour after that, and he couldn't feel his body at all. Everything was dull, and he was wearier than he ever had been in his life. Supporting himself against a wall, he was surprised to hear his cell ring; the service had been non existent only minutes before.

"_Sam?_" Bobby said through the speaker.

"B-Bobby?"

"_Sam? What's wrong_?" Bobby asked, concern pouring from his tone.

"I didn't think that I could get reception here…I tried earlier…" Damn, his vision was blurring.

"_Sam_?" Bobby said after a moment, firmly.

"I'm trapped Bobby," Sam huffed a humorless laugh, shaking his head, "In a fuckin' _meat locker_,"

"_Sam_," Bobby ground out, "_Where are you exactly_?"

"In Lowery city, on Redker's street," Sam seethed, "I can't believe I let this thing trick me,"

"_Don't worry about that; keep yourself as warm as possible and I'll be there soon_," Bobby assured him, and Sam nodded.

"I will," Sam said, and Bobby hung up. The dial tone rang through the empty, chilled air for a while before Sam closed his phone.

He barely registered moving toward the iron door, leaning against it before sliding to the floor. His sight blanked in and out for a while, and Sam couldn't help but wonder if he would die in the meat freezer, if this was where he would end. He almost imagined himself becoming friends with the fat bastard that locked him in there in the first place, waiting until Bobby or some other hunter would eventually come and exorcise them.

Or would he just pass on, to meet his mother and Jess and Ben? Maybe Dean and his dad were already there, and he could reunite with them? The more he thought about the possibility, the more he felt at peace. He smiled, strange and unemotional.

Then he saw no more, and blackness became everything.

_Bliss._

XXXXXXXXXXXX

_**One Hour Earlier…**_

When the Impala pulled up to his house a month and nearly three weeks after Sam had come to him, he was ready to shoot Dean and John. He called Sam, who was on a hunt, and prepared to give the kid the news.

"_B-Bobby_?" a small voice answered him.

"Sam? What's wrong?" Bobby asked, immediately concerned by the pitiful tone in Sam's voice.

"_I didn't think that I could get reception here…I tried earlier_…" Sam breathed out slowly.

"Sam?" Bobby said after a moment, firmly.

"_I'm trapped Bobby_," Sam huffed a humorless laugh, "_In a fuckin' meat locker_,"

"Sam," Bobby ground out, trying to keep the boy's attention on him, "Where are you exactly?"

"_In Lowery city, on Redker's street_," Sam seethed for a moment, "_I can't believe I let this thing trick me_,"

"Don't worry about that; keep yourself as warm as possible and I'll be there soon," Bobby said while Dean and John approached the front porch. After Sam said he understood, Bobby hung up and strode out the door quickly, saying, "Follow me, I'll tell you about it later," roughly while passing the two men.

Dean and John shared a look before hitching it back to the Impala.

Bobby drove 100 mph, sometimes faster, the whole way to Lowery. Once he reached the abandoned meat-packing facility, he pulled out his rock salt shell filled shot gun and hurried inside. Dean and John ran behind him with their own fire arms, confusion keeping them silent and alert. Neither had seen Bobby so frantic before. He ran through a pair of double floppy doors and down a hall of grey doors and dusty air.

"Sam!" he called out loudly, and then listened intently.

A few moments of pause were interrupted by a weak tapping, and even that didn't last very long. Bobby was eternally thankful that his hearing was in no way impaired as he ran toward the door where the sound had come from. Dean, behind him, was growing steadily in his feelings of fear and unwillingness to believe that his brother was involved in this in anyway…

Bobby flung open the freezer with great force, but he stilled as the other two did when Sam, boneless and barely conscious, fell backwards from his leaning place against the door. His face was pale and his lips were a deep blue, his small breaths coming out in tiny white puffs.

Sam's hazel eyes flickered in and out of view, and he looked blurrily up at Bobby, smiling the littlest smile ever, saying softly, "Found me…"

"SAM!" Dean shouted, running, the first one in action. He pulled Sam up into his arms, cradling him against his chest. "What the hell happened? Why are you here?" He looked up at Bobby, and was taken aback by the sheer force of the man's glare.

"Now's not the time," Bobby growled out, "We need to get him back to my place." With that, he helped Dean lift Sam up and got the tall twenty-two year old into the passenger seat of his truck.

XXXXXXXXX

Four hours later, and the three men (Bobby, John, and Dean,) sat in the living room of the old hunter's home. Sam was bundled carefully in the next room, shivering and incoherent.

"You wanna tell me what the hell is wrong with you two?" Bobby finally asked.

"How bout you tell us what the hell is wrong with you?" John quipped back, affronted by the other's tone, "And why was Sam in a goddamned meat locker in the first place?"

Bobby shook his head breathing out a strangled sigh. "Give me your phone."

John narrowed his eyes, but took out his cell and handed it over. Bobby looked at it and said, "You haven't changed your number, right?" John shook his head no.

Bobby saw that the phone was off. He punched the power button and waited till the screen came on. Once it was there, he found the voice messages and selected the first one on the list from Sam. It hadn't been listened to before.

"_Dad,_" Sam's voice came out loud and clear, if a little strange and rough, "_I…something happened at school…I came home and…and they were dead,_" Sam's voice cracked at the end of his admission, "_They were…I swear dad, I laid salt lines and everything, I had protection charms, but-but it didn't matter. He still got to them. I got home and…and God, Dad, it was just like when Mom died! Please pick up! I can't…I don't know what to do!_" A sob filled the air. "_Please, call me when you get this._" Sam seemed to compose himself with his ending line, and the message beeped off.

"Jesus…" Dean stared wide-eyed at the phone, "Sammy," He looked to the other room, speechless.

"You wanna tell me why the hell you didn't get this sooner? Or why I haven't been able to get in contact with you at all?" Bobby practically snarled. "He's been here almost two months and worried that you were dead! So have I! Where were you two?"

"We were on a hunt, in a prison," John answered, monotone, "It took us a while, and we had to pretend we were robbers to get in. That lasted about three weeks. Our phones must have died while we were in there, and I can't remember using them again until yesterday when I realized it wouldn't turn on," John took his phone back with a shaky hand, "I just charged it this morning…"

Bobby looked him deeply in the eye before seeming to deflate, anger turning to bitterness over the dramatic irony that had made a mockery of Sam's mental state and emotional overload. Bobby sighed, warning, "Well, you'd best delete the rest of those messages, cause I'm sure that he wouldn't want you to hear it if you didn't know about the first message until now."

Dean looked at his own cell phone, floored by the number of messages and calls Sam had made to him. He almost wanted to compare it to his father's and see who had the most. Not that it mattered in the least. This was probably the most complete and utter failure that he or his dad had ever made with Sammy. He wasn't even going to think about what would have happened had Sam not contacted Bobby at all.

The three of them talked and shared a melancholy drink of beer over Sam's sad and undeserved fate.

XXXXXXXX

Sam came to and feeling fuzzy and warm. He thought for an amused moment, _Clouds? What a cliché,_ before opening his eyes and seeing the wood ceiling of Bobby's house. He felt…

_Disappointed…_

He shook his head roughly. He was not going to give that feeling any merit; he did not want to die. At least not until that Yellow Eyed Douche Bag (as Sam had officially dubbed him) was blown into oblivion.

He tried to move, his muscles stiff and sore, only to struggle with the blankets wrapped around him, neck to toe. It took a few frustrated attempts, but he freed himself eventually. He felt overly lethargic, and hear muffled voices coming from the living room. Did Bobby have company?

Sam stood and walked down the hall carefully, still feeling slightly out of it. He reached the arch in front of the living room and stared. His mind went confusedly blank for a few startled seconds.

_Dean?_

The blond caught his eye.

"Sam! You're up. You should still be resting…" His brother made his way over to Sam.

"You're…here…" Sam said, weary rough voice low as his eyes slid around the room. His Dad was there too?

"Yeah, we are," Dean's face fell in concern, "Don't you remember seeing me at the meat packaging place?"

"I…" Sam swallowed, thinking back, "I remember talking to Bobby, and everything after that is gone," He laughed shallowly, "Looks like you got there in time,"

"Jesus, Sammy," Dean huffed out, pulling his brother into a tight hug. "I'm sorry we weren't here sooner; we were on a hunt and our cells died and we forgot about it until yesterday," Dean squeezed tighter, "I'm so sorry for what happened…"

Sam took a deep breath and embraced his brother back for a few moments before pulling away and smiling oh-so-softly, "Its okay Dean, I'm just glad that you two are alive. You had me so worried,"

Dean grinned roguishly, "You should know better than that. A crazy, heart-attacking bitch ain't gonna do us two in,"

Sam ruefully shook his head, "I was more thinking that you guys would end up on the ceiling, you know, but I'd hoped that since you weren't with me, you would be safe from that," Sam finished.

"Sam…what happened-" His Dad started.

"Yeah, I know, 'it wasn't my fault', but you were right, Dad. I should have listened to you four years ago. Then none of this would have happened…Je- _they_ would still be alive." Sam insisted, biting the inside of his cheek before saying their names. He didn't deserve it, didn't have the right to say them when he was the one mostly responsible for their deaths.

John paused at that comment, not wanting to fuel the guilt trip his son was traveling at a million miles per hour, but something needed to be said. "Don't you dare blame yourself for this, Sam. It's exactly what the Yellow-Eyed Demon wants you to do. You didn't know that he was this much of a threat when you applied to go to Stanford. It's his fault; he's the one causing all of this. Don't forget that." John clapped his hand on Sam's tall shoulder, gripping it firmly in support.

Sam sighed and nodded dejectedly, as if he was agreeing with him. And he did agree with his Dad's logic, but that damnable voice in the back of his head still haunted him about it.

"Thank you, I understand, but I need to get back to Lowery," Sam said, moving gently out of his father's grasp.

"You don't back to the warehouse where you almost became a corpse-sickle, do you?" Dean raised an eyebrow.

"No, I just needed to find out who the ghost was, and I saw the asshole pretty clearly before he shoved me into the freeze locker. I just need to salt and burn him, simple as that," Sam smiled slightly.

"Then I'm coming with you. Don't want you to get stuck in a coffin this time," Dean cracked, elbowing Sam in the ribs softly.

"Funny," Sam said, rolling his eyes. "See you in a few, Bobby. And thanks for getting there so quickly,"

Bobby nodded, "Make sure you watch each other's backs," Bobby didn't smile, but he was relieved on the inside. This was as much emotion that Sam had shown in all his time at the junkyard. It seemed that all the giant college-boy needed was his big brother, after all.

"Go kick ass, boys," John called out as his two sons got into the Impala together, and they waved back at him.

"Do you have anything new for me Bobby?" John asked once they were out of sight.

"I've been doing some more research, and I think I've found what you need," Bobby answered, walking into the library area of the house.

XXXXXXXX

Seems Sam can't catch a break, huh? Better? Worse? Come on, you know you want to review and tell me all about it.

Love you all, especially those of you who alerted me!

IcyBlue


	3. Abandonment Issues and College Blues

**Chapter Two: Abandonment Issues and College Blues**

With Dean backing him up, there was no problem finishing up the case. Dean had fun playing whack-the-insane-ghost with a shot gun and Sam burned the bones. Simple, when you have two experienced people; annoying and near suicide with only one, as Sam had clearly found out for himself.

They drove back to Bobby's place, reminiscing over one hunt or another, Dean telling about what he had missed in those years at college. But Dean knew not to ask about Stanford, knowing that the tragedy was still too close to Sam's heart, just like he knew what buttons to push to get Sam to smile slightly or even laugh a little. Sam may have been hurting from losing those he loved at college, but even spending this tiny amount of time back with his brother healed something unnamable in Dean.

Damn, there was no end to how much he had missed the shaggy haired 'emo', as he had affectionately referred to him as. As much as he hated what Sam had to lose to bring him back, he was glad that he would be hunting with his lil' bro again. The family was complete once more.

They reached the house at about one in the morning, tired but slightly fulfilled by their closeness. The lights were still on for them, and Bobby was waiting in the living room, pouring over a few books. He smiled and sent them to bed, telling them that he would look for something for them to hunt in the morning. He said that John was already in bed, and that Sam's room had a futon on the floor for one of them.

They got ready for bed and tucked in after turning off the light. Sam listened to Dean's breathing for hours as he thought over the recent events in his life, working through the emotional turmoil that he couldn't let himself deal with during a hunt. He eventually passed out of sheer exhaustion, like most times he fell asleep, but at least there were no dreams that way.

Or so he hoped most of the time.

XXXXXX

"What do you mean he left?!" Dean yelled, absolutely pissed.

"He had some investigating to do, and he wanted you to stay here with Sam for a while," Bobby said. "He took one of my trucks last night to another city and went to see an old friend,"

"But why couldn't he have waited for us? Why not take us along? He needs someone to watch his back, or did Sam's little brush with hypothermia not make that clear enough?" Dean fired away at Bobby. So much for a 'complete' family.

"Your dad wants you to be safe, and he worries about you too much to do what he has to some of the time. You know it too," Bobby stopped Dean from protesting again, "He's too close to his goal to be distracted right now, and that's the truth. It's a not fair, but that's life Dean,"

Dean deflated. There was no other word for it. He knew his argument would only be backed with hot air, but it didn't make him feel any less frustrated by the fact that their father was too worried about them to let them fight with him. Weird irony, considering how they had grown up, and their father was only NOW worried about getting distracted by them.

Sam just sighed. It was just like any other time that he had left them by themselves, but he, like Dean, wanted to help with the planning and killing of the YED. Still, there were other hunts to be had and research that could help their dad if they investigated further. What he was really itching to do, however, was go see Missouri. The homey woman had been very supportive to him since he had first come to her two months before, looking for an answer to his strange dreams and sudden bursts of random mind powers, and started his training off well.

By the hints that she left him, his father had known that he was a psychic for some time now. Since he had first met Missouri when he was three, not that he would remember that. He didn't know if Dean had been told, however. Sam was worried about what he would think if found out. He knew he would have to tell Dean _sometime_ or it would come right around and bite him in the ass.

Maybe Dean would think it was cool, like a pallor trick or a new poker scam method. Just as likely that he would tease Sam mercilessly about it, though.

_Far more likely_, He chuckled to himself, reaching into his pocket when his cell rang. He didn't recognize the number.

"Hello?" Dean and Bobby stared at him when he answered the phone.

"_Sam? Is that you?_" A girl's voice.

"Yes, you've got the right number…" the voice sounded so familiar…

"_Oh, thank god_," She said breathing out harshly, "_It's me, Darcy_,"

"Darcy? How did you get this number?" It was like needles to his heart, hearing who it was. Jess's girlfriend and he had never really talked or hung out together, except on those rare occasions when the four of them went to the movies or out to a bar together.

"_From Becca_," Darcy said, hurriedly, "_She said to call you, that you could help_,"

"Becca?" Sam questioned, having vague memories of seeing the two hanging out. Becca had had some 'problems' with a new house that her parents had bought for her to move into outside of campus. It was the one hunt that he had been on while attending college.

"_Yeah, I told her what happened to me the other night and she said that you had helped her before_," Darcy explained, sounding agitated and out of breath.

"Yes, I did, so slow down. What happened exactly?" Sam tried to gather what he could from the conversation.

"_Well, about three weeks ago, this Tuesday, I was walking back to the dorms from that class on sociology and it was late. I was mad that Jerry hadn't got the music that I wanted for my dance practice that night and I had to call the whole thing off. I guess I wasn't thinking straight, but, I can't really do that much these days, you know_?" She paused, regaining her place in the tale.

"Yes," Sam agreed quietly, and she continued.

"_Anyway, so I just about screamed the entire building awake when this thing, furry and growling, jumped at me. It knocked me down, and it bit my arm pretty hard, but then it just ran off…I think I hit its head pretty hard_." Darcy considered her memory.

"So, you were attacked by a rapid dog?" Sam ventured, trying to pin the bad experience to something, _anything_ not supernatural.

"_No, no, that couldn't be it. I got checked out and all that. That wasn't the weird thing at all. I went to the hospital where they fixed me up, but the next day when my arm started itching like crazy I took the bandage off, there was no scar, no bite mark at all. I thought I was losing my mind, but my dorm mate is just as freaked._" Darcy panicked, "_And lately, I don't know why, but I just get so ANGRY. I can't stop myself. I nearly punched this poor freshman for asking me where the admin office was. I don't know what's wrong, but when I said something to Becca about it…_"

"She told you to call me," Sam sighed, knowing precisely what was wrong.

"_Yeah, so here I am. Ready to kill something, and I just can't stop eating meat. Any kind, you name it. I don't even like fish and I'm drooling when I see a piece of salmon in the store. Don't even get me started on raw beef…_" she groaned helplessly.

"Alright, Darcy, I need you to stay inside. Tell people you're sick, just keep away from everyone, and wait for me. I'll be there soon," Sam sighed.

"_But what's wrong? Can't you just tell me and I can go to the doctor or something?_" She asked, dreading the answer.

"No, I'm sorry Darcy, but I'll tell you about it when I get there, alright? Just stay as calm as you can." Sam warned, and said goodbye looked at Dean, still staring curiously at his brother.

Sam sighed deeply. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately.

"Something wrong?" Dean finally asked.

"Yeah. Werewolf's at Stanford…" Sam sat roughly, his face falling into his hands. "Please tell me that there's a cure for the curse," he said to Bobby.

"There might be a chance, only if the infected haven't changed yet,"

That got Sam's head to pop up. "What is it?"

"Well, you have to kill the werewolf that bit the infected," Bobby said, "I'll go get the book I have on it, but this is all theory, Sam,"

Sam sighed a heavy breath of strain. If there was one thing that he did _not_ need at the moment, it was to shoot his friend through the heart with a silver bullet. He nearly choked himself on the possibility.

He turned to Dean, "You coming with?"

Dean pursed his lips slightly, "Another hunt so soon?" He pretended to deliberate the idea.

"Thought you'd never ask." Dean grinned toothily. Sam shook his head and threw a pillow at his playful brother.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Nineteen hours later and they were there at eleven in the morning. Dean parked at the motel nearest to the school and paid for their room while Sam called Darcy. They would meet her in an hour or so after they investigated about the 'animal' sightings. It was then that Sam noticed something that made things about ten times easier.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, after hearing Sam shout out, 'I have it!'

"Well, she was bitten three weeks ago, right?" Dean nodded, "That was two days after the full moon. It takes one full month before the transformation can be completed, so she won't change until then…"

"And that gives us two nights to find the fucker," Dean blinked and then smiled widely. "Nice going, Brain," he poked Sam.

"Does that make you Pinky?" Sam teased, raising a brow.

"I give you a compliment, and what do you call me? A diseased, retarded mouse. I feel so loved," Dean pouted, "See if I ever get you a coffee in the morning again,"

And Sam could only laugh before getting his stuff together and leading them to Darcy's apartment.

XXXXXXXX

"Man, that girl is fine. I wonder if I should give this whole college thing a try…" Dean quipped, glancing back at the dorm building where Darcy lived.

"She's not exactly your type, dude…" Sam rolled his eyes.

"What, cause you called dibs or something? Of course she's my type, long hair, perfect skin, nice chest, great ass, she's funny…"

"And gay…" Sam snickered.

"Oh, so _that's_ what you meant," Dean shook his head and shrugged. "Sure there are plenty of other girls here."

"You can go head down to the bar or something then, I'm going to get ready for tonight. I found several sightings and Animal Control seemed to think that the werewolf, or 'extremely large rapid dog' is concentrating in this area." Sam said, sitting down in the passenger seat of the Impala. "We're just lucky that Darcy seems to be the only one to have been bitten,"

"What, and miss a chance to stake out with my baby bro? I think not," Dean hopped in as well, heading toward the motel to get the supplies. "Wouldn't want the big bad wolf to lock you in the janitor's closet or something,"

"You're never gonna let that go are you?"

"Would you let it go if a ghost trapped me in a meat locker?"

"…"

"I thought so," Dean chuckled.

XXXXXXXX

Two hours after dark, they had the thing trapped in an alley and shot it through the heart. They dragged the corpse to deserted field and burned its body for good measure, burying it remains and hoping that that would be the end of it.

Dean took the first shift the next night looking after Darcy, and then it was Sam's turn. It was strange talking with her about his past at Stanford, especially now that she knew what he did for a 'living'.

"So, that's why you left?" She asked.

"Yeah, I couldn't take the thought of facing their parents. I know that if I hadn't of come here in the first place…" Sam shook his head, and then gave Darcy a piercing look, "I'm sorry. Because of me, you lost Jess."

"It was not your fault." Darcy nodded obstinately, "Jess and Ben would tell you the same, and you know it."

"Darcy…"

"I forgive you,"

Sam's mouth fell open.

"I forgive you, especially because even though it was hard for you to come back here, you still came to help me when I asked. Now you just need to forgive yourself," Darcy smiled sadly.

"I can see why Jess loved you," Sam shared her smile after regaining the ability to speak.

"And I can see why Ben and Jess loved you," Darcy closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Her brows furrowed, sweat starting to bead on her forehead.

"Sam…" Her eyes opened, and she clenched her sides. She cried out, body convulsing.

"No… Darcy!" Sam's hand went to his waistband, gripping the gun there, but too conflicted to do anything with it.

"Sam, you have to! Do it!" She screamed then, pain etching into her features as she tried uselessly to stop what her body had no control over. Her pupils blown and her fingernails lengthened into claws, her teeth ground together as she became the very picture, very essence of feral.

He pulled out the gun and cocked the hammer back, aim precise as his heart warred with trained instinct. _Why?_ His soul and mind cried out as one, not wanting with every fiber of his being to hurt his friend. His girlfriend's lover.

'_I don't want to hurt anyone…_' Darcy's plea came back to him from that afternoon. '_If it comes down to it, please don't worry about me, don't hesitate. I will not resent you for it, I want you to protect me, and that's the only way you can if I change._'

He closed his eyes, and fired.

The shot killed her instantly, busting her heart and shattering his last defense to pieces as he looked down on her limp, sagging form.

That night, they would ransack her dorm room to make it look like a break-in, and fish the bullet from her body. Silver bullets didn't come cheap, and they couldn't have the cops tracking them through their uniqueness. The half-changes to her body would be questioned, but no answers would yield from 'real' science.

Sam's eyes were cold, unseeing. His breath was shallow and uneven; he didn't turn when Dean came back into the room only minutes after the shot had been fired. Sam flinched when Dean placed a hand on his arm.

"We have to leave…" Sam moved to the door, barely registering his brother's words. They got back into the Impala together, and Dean watched Sam carefully. He remembered this blank look on Sam's face before, when Sam was fifteen, like his little brother's spirit had been so damaged that it decided to break away from its physical form for a while. He couldn't even imagine what Sam was feeling, but his thoughts were devastatingly obvious.

It was another thing that he would carry, that he would blame himself for, for the rest of his life.

Dean would do everything in his power to make him see otherwise, but even if Dean had been the one to kill Darcy it would still eat at Sam. There was not much he could do but keep Sam from believing that he was responsible for any of this mess at his old school.

It was one topic that Dean deemed only really safe to talk about if and only if Sam brought it up first. Then Sam would have analyzed it so thoroughly that it would be okay to discuss it with Dean, to tell him about the good stuff that had happened while studying and partying and everything in between.

Back at their motel room, Dean led Sam to the bed and took off his brother's shoes and jacket. He laid Sam back and removed his own before getting in his bed beside Sam's. He hadn't wanted to push Sam into anything, but wasn't surprised when he felt his little brother crawling into bed beside him, pulling on his undershirt.

Dean turned around and took Sam into his arms, cradling with the gentle care of a sibling, a practiced mothering embrace. He stroked Sam's hair and back as his body shivered and threatened to seize with sobs and tears. The wounds from Jess and Ben's deaths were still open and gaping, adding Darcy to the list only infected the emotional lacerations. Dean could only hold onto Sam as he broke and fell in the dark, the unforgiving world crashing in and pulling him to pieces.

"De…" He asked softly, clinging to Dean like a vice, "I know that I have no right to ask this…I left you, I know, but can you promise that you won't? Please…Don't leave me…"

"Shh-shh…" Dean hugged him tighter, "It's alright. I promise I won't leave you, I'm gonna stay with you, even if you want me to go away…"

"I know it's selfish but I…I couldn't live without you…You're all I have left…" Sam sobbed harder, "I won't leave again…I can't lose you too,"

"I'm not going anywhere without you, Sammy," Dean whispered back as Sam lost to his exhaustion. He kissed the younger on his forehead and held him close, knowing there was no other comfort besides his presence that he could offer Sam.

He fell asleep minutes afterward, knowing that sleep would come easier to him now that Sam was with him for good.

XXXXXXXX


	4. Missouri and The Next Hunt

**Chapter Three: Missouri and The Next Hunt**

They were back at Bobby's the next day. Bobby knew without asking how the hunt had gone by the plain visage of disappointment and blame on Sam's face. With the last two hunts weighing on his shoulders, Sam decided to visit Missouri and train as hard as possible. She had said that he had a lot of potential, and he was beginning to feel the press of his ability in the back of his mind, stretching out to become an almost physical presence in his blood.

So, instead of moping around the scrap yard for days on end in grief, he and his brother headed to Kansas, Lawrence, where the middle aged psychic lived. If Dean didn't know, he would be told soon. There wasn't a night since Sam had shot Darcy that Sam had slept alone, or even in his own bed.

The woman met them on her wooden porch. She smiled as she watched the boys approach, her apron wrapped around her round waist and a hot pad in her hands.

"Dean Winchester, I haven't seen you since you were nine honey," Missouri greeted in only the way that she could. Her voice washed over them, comforting and welcoming that Sam suspected was one part psychic push, one part pure motherly nature.

"I guess I can kinda remember you," Dean scrunched his eyebrows together; "You're the lady with the wacky spatula, right?"

"Boy, if that's all you remember, then you misbehaved more than I thought you did," She laughed, and Dean shook his head.

"All I can think is that I really wanted some cookies and Sam was begging me for some..."

They talked as they traveled into the house, sitting at the couch. Once there, Missouri smiled sadly at Sam. "I know you've been hurt bad honey, and I know that there's nothing anybody can do to show you that Darcy's accident wasn't your fault, but you. I'm glad that you came to me, and that you want to move forward, but don't hurt yourself while trying, alright? I won't show you anything more until you promise me,"

Sam's eyes were downcast. Sometimes he hated that she could read minds...No matter how useful it was when training. He nodded, "I promise to try,"

Her eyes narrowed, but at least she knew he was being honest. She sighed, "Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes. I hope you boys like mac and cheese," At the glow on their faces and the way they eyed the dining room, she laughed at little, "You two talk a little before that. And Sam,"

He looked up, "You brought him here, you need to tell him," He smiled in understanding, glad that he could do this alone and with the consent of Missouri. He didn't think that she would object, but if she told him to tell Dean, that meant his brother might not have a real problem with it.

"Tell me what?" Dean eyed Sam, "Keeping secrets little brother?"

Sam winced a bit at the slight sadness that tinged Dean's tone. "Just one. It's kinda major, but I didn't get a chance to tell you before. Not even Bobby knows."

Dean nodded and waved for him to continue.

"Alright, uh, I'm... well, there's no easy way to say this, but, I'm uh, psychic," It was comical the way he was tripping over his admission, and Dean found himself laughing at the word throw up and in incredibility at the statement.

"You gonna start a tarot business soon?" He chuckled, "Or just bend spoons on late night TV like everybody else?"

Sam rolled his eyes at the classic Dean response. The vase on the coffee table in front of them scooted across the surface without being touched.

That stopped Dean's laughter. He stared between the flowery (ugly) thing and Sam. "Do that again."

Sam raised his eyebrows at the command and mood change. The vase moved toward Dean and stopped just before the edge, and then moved back to where it was in the beginning. With how Dean was staring at the vase in shock and expectation, Sam couldn't resist the chance to show more.

He levitated the coffee table.

That seemed to get Dean out of his stupor and he looked back at Sam with an eyebrow raised. The TV remote flew into Sam's right hand and he said, "Come on, now you're just showing off," Dean laughed at the pouty expression on Sam's face; obviously he wanted to milk Dean's shock for all it was worth. "Is it all just telekinesis stuff?"

"No, actually that was the second thing that I learned I could do," Sam admonished, "The first was premonition,"

"Premonition, huh?"

"Yeah, it was what made me come here in the first place," Sam said, "My dreams started coming true,"

"What did you dream about?" Dean asked, curious.

Sam drew in a breath. "Them, and the fire," He _would not_ cry damnit. He could go one day with out breaking down, and today was as good as any.

Dean saw the struggle on Sam's face. He knew that it would be a waste, like Missouri said, to tell him that it was not his fault, that there was nothing he could have done.

"Sammy," He hugged his brother close, "You need to put this in the past. I didn't know them, but going from what Darcy was like, they would not want you to hurt yourself over this anymore." Sam hesitated before embracing him back, but did so with fervor. He nodded into Dean's shoulder, and Dean supposed that was enough for the moment.

"So, is there anything else you can do? You know, besides the whole moving shit with your mind thing..." Dean did what he did 'best'. He changed the subject.

That got a choked chuckle from Sam. "Well, that's what I'm learning to control right now. After that its empathy and mind reading, though I can already do that emotion sensing pretty well."

"You would..." Dean laughed, and Sam glared slightly.

"The next after that is dream walking. That's kind of self explanatory...and the last would be spirit manipulation, and that's where demon hunting comes in." Sam continued.

"Spirit manipulation? That's some heavy duty shit, and it sounds a little like black magic if you ask me," Dean raised a wary eyebrow.

"If I used it on people, it would be. Thing is, if I do it right, I would be able to force the demon out of the possessed body without actually killing the person, if they haven't abused the body too much already. That's what I would use it for." Sam said, a little nervous himself about the topic. Missouri had said that it would be a tedious part of his training and that he would have to swear under pain of death not to use ability on humans, at all, only the demon entity or she would know and send Bobby or another hunter after him. And fall prey to her evil spatula of doom.

He was glad that she was so strict about it, which meant that he could trust her to train him and not let his powers get out of hand.

"So, if you're so great at this, the how in the hell did you get trapped in that meat locker and not use these powers," Dean questioned, albeit amusedly.

Sam colored darkly at that. "Well, one of my limits-"

"Self-created limits!" Missouri called from the kitchen, chiding him.

"-what she said, is that I can't move or effect what I can't see." Sam said, looking down in embarrassment.

"You're doing pretty well, honey. It's a common problem that you just have to practice your way out of." Missouri said as she walked back into the room.

"Common problem?" Dean smirked at that, "I guess it is kind of a 'common problem' in our book,"

Sam chuckled and Missouri rolled her eyes at the comment.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Two weeks after they arrived at Missouri's, they were packing up to leave again. The hunts had piled up higher recently, and the hunters were getting restless.

That, and their father had finally contacted them. Sending them coordinates to a place called Haric in Idaho.

In the middle of November.

_Burr. _

"I still think that we should tell him." Sam insisted again. He was agitating Dean in only the way that he could, the way only a little brother could.

"He left without telling us much," Dean said tightly, "Besides, Missouri seemed to think that he already knew,"

"I don't think he ever intended for me to find out, though," Sam breathed out.

Dean raised an eyebrow, "Why would you say that?"

"Because he never told you about it, and never talked with Missouri about it either,"

"I don't think that he ever thought that you would develop any real power at all," Dean shrugged. "I mean, the dreams didn't even start until you were 22, right?"

"I guess…"

"Don't get all broody about it. We'll tell him about it the next time we see him," Dean smirked. "Did you find anything up our alley in Haric?"

"Not much…Just that it's another small town that is filled with old houses," Sam considered the weight of their Dad sending them there, "I think there is an old mansion that might be worth looking into, though,"

"Why just the mansion if the town is chalk full of old buildings?"

"It's the only one that is reported to be under going some remodeling, and you know how spirits _love_ that," Sam smiled ruefully, "Plus, there was an article about two kids going missing a month back, and witnesses place them near the trail leading to the house the evening of their disappearance,"

"Sounds solid enough to check out," Dean mulled over the idea, "Dad didn't leave us much to go on, I just hope that's what he wanted us to investigate,"

Sam nodded. He didn't want to screw up yet _another_ hunt, especially with his new track record. Losing the innocent and getting trapped were not new habits he wanted to adapt to.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Standing in front of the Crestmoor Manor for the first time, only one thing could be said:

"Do you see Shaggy and Scooby anywhere?" Dean looked around suspiciously, as if the two cartoon characters might _actually_ appear.

Sam chuckled, "You only hope they are cause you have the hots for Daphne," and was caught on the shoulder by a rough punch from his brother.

In truth, the house did look like something out of one of the Scooby adventures, probably more so than any hunt that they had had before. It was a tall, four story home with large stained glass windows on the first floor and foggy, conspicuous looking windows on the upper floors. With its width, it could easily have been a thirty bedroom home. The crumbling pathway and overall decrepit exterior just added to the ambience of a classic haunted house on late night, low budget horror movies.

The house was about five miles separate from the rest of town, with oaks and willows and pines foresting the surrounding area. But even with its foreboding undertones, the house and its scenery were quite beautiful. Then again, with the life they led, they weren't one to judge on the aesthetic value of old ass property. Now, any question about graveyards, and they were your men…

"Hello?" a female voice drew their attention from the side yard. She looked to be about thirty-five, with shoulder length blond hair and brown eyes, wearing a knee-length black coat hiking boots.

"Uh, hi," Dean searched behind her and spared a quick look around the vicinity. There were no others. Damn. They shouldn't have assumed it was abandoned.

"Are you John's sons?" She asked right off the bat, and the tension drained from the brothers almost as fast as it had built up.

"Yeah, I'm Sam, and this is Dean," Sam took the initiative, "Who are you? Sorry, he didn't give us much details about what we needed to do here…" Sam scratched the back of his neck.

"Oh? That's fine. I'm Kathy Haggen." Kathy said a bit tightly, glancing back at the house and twitching faintly as if she were in a hurry to get somewhere. "I'm a retired hunter, and my husband and I bought this place to fix up and use as a safe house, if you will, for other hunters if needed. The last thing we expected was to have do was deal with the supernatural in this place…" She sighed.

"Don't old homes kind of heighten the possibility of it?" Sam asked with an eyebrow raised.

"Yes, normally, but before we bought the mansion we researched for two days to see there was anything that might indicate that it might be haunted, but nothing came up," Kathy sighed hard in indignation, wondering privately how everything had gone so wrong. She looked back at the house, her expression mixed between forlorn and fright.

"What are you so worried about?" Dean asked bluntly, "You keep staring at that house like it's going to eat you."

Kathy took a deep breath. "Not exactly... You read about the two kids who disappeared a few months back, right? Well, one thing our research did happen to tell us was that this area has seen similar cases, of all ages, for the past fifty years or more. The records of a small town only go so far back here... and..."

"And...?" Sam pressed her this time.

"And my husband was the latest to fall prey to whatever is messing with this place."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dramatic drum roll, dun dun dunnn…

Hope you liked!


	5. Nameless, Breathless

**Author: Thank you all that alerted me! It makes me really happy that you guys are interested in the story, and I can tell you, I don't plan on ending it any time soon!**

**Hope you like this knew addition!**

**Chapter Four: Nameless, Breathless**

"When did this happen?" Sam asked, eyes drawing to the house and checking it as surreptitiously as possible. Dean was doing the same.

"About ten minutes after I called your father," Kathy's mouth was set in a firm line, her face paling at her admission. "We were both working in the house, he was right across the hall in the room opposite mine, the library, and he just stopped answering me," Kathy shook her head, "I went to check, I looked from top to bottom in this place and nothing. Even his cell says that it's out of service when I call..."

"What made you call in the first place, if it was before he disappeared?" Sam's brows furrowed.

"Well... the mansion showed all the classics of a haunting. The furniture would move, there were random cold spots, things would go missing... that stuff combined with the missing people had Greg and me looking into see who died here, but as I said, we found nothing that would cause all this. We tried a ritual, and nothing happened. That's what had me calling John."

"The ritual didn't work?" Sam's eyes widened slightly, and he shared a look with Dean.

"I've tried it three times," Kathy sighed, at a loss. "Any suggestions?"

Sam thought for a moment, "How old is this house?"

"Close to two hundred... It was built in 1827," Kathy said, "Before Canada was really established. Other than the year, there's not much information about this place in the 19th century,"

"Then you're saying the first owner was probably French?" Sam considered aloud.

"Yeah, I guess it was around that time," Kathy nodded.

Dean whistled. "That guy must have been loaded to make this mansion out here..."

"You're right Dean," Sam came to a realization, "The guy would have had to have been filthy rich to have afforded this place. It would have been out in the middle of nowhere at the time," Sam smiled.

"I know that smile..." Dean grimaced. "That means..."

"Yep, your most dreaded enemy." Sam chuckled, "Leave it to you to fear planes and research... of all things,"

Even Kathy bore a small smile at their antics as Dean bickered with Sam. Somehow, in their presence, she felt that she could hope for her husband's safe return. It was more than just them being John's sons that reassured her, even Bobby, whom she had called for help in the days before Greg's disappearance, had suggested that she call them. And Bobby didn't take to just any hunters...

"The library's in the opposite direction you came in," She prompted, pointing down the dirt road to the right, "Just take this into town; the library's the second largest building, next to the school."

* * *

They promised Kathy that they would return the next morning, and they headed to the library. Dean, after sitting at the desk nearest Sam and staring frustrated at a history text, said that he would book them at the bed and breakfast down the street. Sam nodded, knowing Dean would not be back until Sam had found something substantial that they could discuss and speculate over.

He knew what he was searching for: A wealthy man in those days, especially one that travelled across the ocean to the Americas, was always mentioned in some obscure history novel as a testament to their fortune seeking.

He found records of French settlers in the general area around the 1830s, but hardly any pertaining to the overly wealthy Frenchman. There was a brief account about the house itself in 1874, but it was about the new owners, the family Olkins, and then later about the family leading a long and happy life before dying and leaving the house to no one. No mention of any tragedy at all. By some strange intuition, Sam knew that wherever was haunting the mansion was older than any ghost they had dealt with before.

He found a previous account of the original owners, or at least of the time that they owned it. A series of disappearances, mostly of the farm workers and their children.

This is getting to be highly frustrating the random (or not so random) disappearances ceased in 1868, which Sam presumed had something to do with the death of the first owner and/or his family. Why was the name never mentioned? Grr…

The only fruitful thing that came from his nearly 4-hour search was an old ledger from 1820, right when the town of Arcuda first started on the rim, before the Canadian border was established. From the year is 1831 two 1866 the death accounts were at their highest, but most of the causes, besides the cases of old age, were unspecified. Huh. Sam felt he could safely assume that they had disappeared as well.

He hoped he could gain a name from their visit to the house next day. His brain would explode from too much wasted research otherwise.

* * *

"Damn, Sammy. Here I thought the library would never fail you..." was Dean's response to the issue.

"Shut up..." Sam glared, "everything else I found points to the problem being spiritually related, I just couldn't find a freakin' name."

Dean laughed at his riled brother. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone that your research skills aren't what they used to be,"

For that comment, he earned a pillow to his face. This led to a pillow fight, and ended with Dean tackling Sam to the floor. Then Dean saw something he hadn't seen in almost 4 years...

Sam smiled, and laughed; pure and simple and breathless, without a trace of worry or guilt of the haunting or his past. It made him want smother Sammy like a teddy bear, that's how relieved he felt.

"Dude, you're heavy, get off!" Sam shows Dean off of him, moving to sit on the bed nearest him. Dean couldn't stop smiling, even after brushing himself off and standing in front of Sam.

"So, what? You gonna just look around the house for old papers or something?" Dean asked.

"I just hope it's that simple. Maybe I'll give Bobby a call and see what he can find out," Sam shrugged, "anyway, I'm starving, is there any decent food in this small town?"

"Yep, there's a diner right next door to this place," Dean said.

"Good, I just hope that it's not swimming in grease like all the other food we eat,"

"Aw, but Sammy, after all the flavor comes from," Dean whined.

"I swear Dean, you're gonna have a heart attack before you're 31," Sam rolled his eyes.

"I'd rather have a heart attack, while eating real meat, then to eat salads and tofu for the rest of my life," Dean defended his deep-fried meals with pride.

"I'll just have to make sure to stay close to you then, who else is going to call the ambulance when you collapse?" Sam pulled on his jacket and tossed a saucy smirk in Dean's direction before heading toward the door.

"Hilarious Sammy, really, I'm dying over here," it was Dean's turn to roll his eyes.

"See! I knew all the cholesterol would take its toll eventually," Sam jibed back, before rushing out the door.

'_I walked right into that one, didn't I?_' Dean laughed to himself as he chased Sam down the hall. '_Oh well, I'll get him back soon..._' Dean plotted evilly, thinking all the pranks he could pull when Sam would least expect it.

* * *

The next morning came too quickly for Dean, who was drowsy with over-stuffing his face the night before and the lack of caffeine. Sam had roused him at seven, saying that they needed to work as fast as possible to find Greg. In Dean's sleep addled mood, he suggested that Greg could help himself since he was a hunter. Sam whacked him a good one for that comment, and Dean had finally woken up.

"Right, right, help out Kathy now, sleep later…" Dean yawned, pulling on his thicker pair of jeans and better-treaded boots. Even the room was starting to get cold, and Sam had only turned off the heater minutes before. After they bundled up the best they could in extra layers and jackets, they made their way back to the diner for a quick breakfast and were back at the manor by eight-fifteen.

Kathy greeted them as pleasantly as she could, rubbing at the dark circles beneath her eyes. Dean felt more energy fill his body as he watched her piteously mull about, remembering how hard it must be for her to not know what had happened with her husband.

She let them into the double doors of the main entrance, the only light coming through the windows in the early morning. The foyer was large with a double-rounded staircase that led to the second and third floors, dust flying everywhere when the wind blew softly from their entrance. The inside needed just as much work as the outside, but there were buckets and mops and tool boxes all over the place, and some of the areas were obviously being remodeled before the disturbance.

"We didn't find much when we looked around the first few times," Kathy said, "I don't know what you'll find that we couldn't,"

"Are you sure you looked everywhere?" Dean asked, "Do the rooms have any old furniture? Did you look in the basement?"

Kathy started to shake her head, "Wait; basement? There is no basement…"

Sam looked taken aback, "Yes there is, I saw the floor plans myself. If not a basement, then a wine cellar?"

"No," Kathy said adamantly, "We are on the base floor; there is nothing that leads below us,"

"Since you've obviously looked everywhere else, we should probably search for sealed off door or something that would lead to the basement." Dean suggested.

"I'll get the plans... and a sledgehammer," Sam smirked slightly, knowing that this would prove to be an interesting day to say the least.

Dean nodded his assent to the plan, and turn to Kathy who was showing him down the hallway to the right where he would start checking the inside walls for any hollow sounding knocks.

Then returned from the car with the blueprints in his pocket and a sledgehammer in hand, moving to follow Dean in Kathy a noise behind him made the Sam turnaround. He saw a flash of fabric at the end of the opposite hall, and heard a lilting laugh that was very young and childlike. Had another kid decided to sneak inside? Sam's heart skipped a beat at the thought. I push them forward, and he called out, "hello?"

The laugh echoed again further away, and Sam had to follow it. Another fabric fragment flowed past the corner, leading into another corridor. Then picked up his pace and turned the corner, and was knocked back by the sheer force of the stench that was something like a mix between decay in putrid sulfur, like burnt flesh. It made his eyes water and throat dry, making him clench his teeth and mouth to keep from vomiting out right. He could see no reason for this permeating order, but an open door on the end of the hall to the right side that had a light shining from it. With a sleeve over his nose, he walked toward the door.

The smell was definitely emanating from there, he knew as it got stronger as he drew nearer he pushed the door further a jar with his boot holding up the hammer as a defense. It was a bathroom, with an open porcelain tub and basin, and arrested near hanging on the wall. The whole room was tile with simple rectangles and squares, all white with grey grout. And leaning against the wall opposite him was a girl, with black hair and gray blue eyes.

She stared at him, seeming to wonder why he was there.

"Hi," he said carefully, "what's your name?"

She didn't answer. Her gaze was unblinking and curious, but she didn't say anything.

"I'm Sam," he lowered the sledgehammer his side, glancing around the bathroom slowly. Something seemed off... it felt as if she wasn't really there, as if he were alone in the room. He stepped forward, cautiously eyeing the girl across from him, gauging for any sort of reaction.

She didn't move, it was as if she was a doll with unmarked skin and a simple blue dress that went to her knees. She had no shoes on, he noticed.

Again making sure to track any movement from the girl, he pulled out an EFM meter before switching it on. Nothing happened when he pointed it at the girl, but when he moved it away from her form, all the senses went haywire and the high pitched whine that came from the little machine made his stomach bottom out.

He looked back at the girl, and her blank expression had fallen into a reverie, her ocean eyes seeming to reach into his with…sympathy?

Sam hadn't noticed when the smell had deteriorated, but it came back full force a moment later, and he let out a groan of annoyed nausea. And then another sound reached his ears, a gurgling sputter that had him focusing on the girl again.

The girl, who could not have been more than eight years old, now had a gaping slit in her throat, and blood was bubbling out of her mouth and flowing in relentless rivers down her dress, pooling at her feet. Her eyes were filled with pain, with sadness, but no fear.

The temperature dropped dramatically, and Sam found himself backing out of the room as quickly as he could. The blood now began to run all over the floor, even out into the hallway, and Sam saw the stuff on his boots, sickening him more.

He started to run back down the hall that he had followed the girl to, the EMF meter now only emitting one long whine. But when he looked to the end of the corridor, he saw that there was only a wall, and no escape.

"Shit!" He yelled, hitting his fists on the wall in frustration, before looking back and seeing that the blood river was following him at a maddening pace. The stench grew even stronger, and it took all he could do not to pass out.

"DEAN!" He shouted, picking up the sledgehammer that he had let slip from his grasp while choking on the horrible stink. "DEAN!!!"

He pulled the heavy hammer back and struck the wall with all his might. "DEANN!!"

"SAM!" He heard the muffled cry from behind the wall, "SAM, WHERE ARE YOU?"

"BEHIND THE WALL!" Sam shouted back, "THERE'S DEFINETLY A FUCKING GHOST HERE!" He kept hitting he wall with all he could, but the dents and cracks on the solid surface didn't seem any closer to giving out then when he started.

_Why do I always have to be the one who gets trapped?!_ Sam groaned in his thoughts, feeling completely grossed out by the squishy soaked through boots on his feet.

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	6. House Of Ruin

**Author: Oh my God, I can't believe it happened.**

**Someone REVIEWED! I had a bet going with myself, to see how many chapters I could add until it would happen, and I thought I would have to wait for at least two more.**

**So, a big THANK YOU to celeste.g.r, you're the best. **

**And thanks, as always, to all who Alerted/Favorited me as well. I'm glad that you're following my story so avidly.**

**Anywho, hope you all enjoy the new chapter!**

**Chapter Five: House of Ruin**

Sam was panicking, and that was never good in any given situation. Nor was it acceptable, considering that he was a hunter, and hunters just run head first into the most dangerous and freaky situations and have panic attacks after the fact.

"Shit," he muttered, coughing in reflex to the heavy funk in the air. He kept slamming the hammer against the wall, but there was no real effect. He knew that spirits could manipulate energy, but he had never been faced with one who could use it so powerfully. He figured by this point that if the hammer hadn't worked, then it wasn't going to.

Sam considered his options. He knew that butting heads with any spirit could be fatal, but would using is psychic abilities work in his favor? He certainly hoped so. He didn't want to be stuck in another fucking trap with an insane ghost. Been there, done that, and still got nervous shivers every time he saw a refrigerator. But this time would be highly more unpleasant than simply freezing to death; he would drown in blood. Disgusting, and all in all, about the worst way he could think of dying. And that was saying something.

So, instead of just hitting the wall with the hammer uselessly, he wrapped the black head of it in his own psychic energy, concentrating on his task, before shouting in warning, "STAND BACK!" as loud as he could to his brother and Kathy.

This time, when he hit the wall, it cracked and a piece of it fell out and he could see Dean and Kathy through it. He didn't waste any time with the second slam of the psychically charged hammer, and the wall crumbled outward to pieces. Sam scrambled over the remaining pile of wood, desperate to get the hell out of that hall way. He was breathing heavily, and he tried to calm himself as soon as he noticed. "What the hell just happened?" Dean asked angrily. "How did...?"

"I think you can figure it out. This ghost is obviously strong enough to move things through walls..." Sam breathed out, and looked down at his boots. "Shit!"

Dean and Kathy followed his gaze, taken aback by the tar-like substance that covered his shoes. It was black and sticky, not blood like Sam had feared in the first place, though he almost wished it was.

"Is that...?" Sam stared at his feet like they were diseased.

"Yes, fuck, that's fucking ectoplasm..." Dean muttered a few more choice words. He took the EMF meter from Sam and ran it over the shoes, exhaling harshly when the device went haywire.

"Ectoplasm?" Kathy asked with raised eyebrows. "I've handled a lot of ghosts before, but never seen that... stuff."

"It doesn't happen all that often," Sam explained, looking a bit dejected, "Ectoplasm only appears when the spirit is either very old, or highly pissed off," Sam sighed, "I'm guessing this one is both,"

Kathy's breath hitched, and she swallowed hard. It was becoming less and less likely that she would ever see her husband alive again. "Right. So, what do we do now?"

"Well, I think that Sammy here has found the way to the basement..." Dean peered down now unsealed hall, "But what I want to know is why the ghost would show you were it is in the first place?"

"I don't think that he did..." Sam began, gaining baffled expressions from the other two. "Have you, in all this time Kathy, seen an actual spirit manifest in the house?"

Kathy shook her head roughly, "No, all it was, was just cold spots and objects moving,"

Sam told them about what he had just experienced, and they tried to make sense of it.

"Well, she's probably one of the victims, and wants to help," Dean supplied, thinking over it haphazardly.

"Yeah, I just wish that she hadn't tried to drown me in blood," Sam looked back, "That's not exactly how I picture a cry for help,"

"Maybe it was a warning?" Kathy asked. "You said that she looked sad, even after the whole blood thing. Maybe she doesn't want you to get hurt like the others,"

Sam nodded, running a hand through his hair. "Well, we're not leaving until this is all sorted out. Guess we should go down and see what we can find,"

They agreed, and gathered up salt, shotguns and flashlights for their search. This time, when Sam walked along the corridor, he saw that the door that had led to the bathroom was gone, and there was another at the end of the hall instead. It unnerved Sam that not only could the ghost transport things through walls; it could give pretty lucid seeming hallucinations. As soon as this ghost turned aggressive, if it wasn't already, they were in some major trouble.

The heavy wood door wasn't locked, and Dean pushed it open with little resistance. He nearly rolled his eyes at the creaking whine that the door made, thinking back to the whole Scooby-doo like situation that the mansion had put them in. Too bad it obviously wasn't a nefarious villain who only wanted the gold for himself, like the show always ended.

The straight set of steps led them down into the brick-floored and plaster-walled room that was dust filled and eerie. The forms that their flashlights revealed looked like covered furniture and some unidentifiable lumps. The three moved around the large underground storage with rock-salt guns at the ready. They pulled dirty sheets off the piles of junk, seeing that most of it was discarded furniture. Sam walked around the stacks of unwanted items until he came to the back wall of the room, finding a large, oak desk that was uncovered and suspiciously clean of most of the dust that had settled on everything else.

He lowered his gun and started rifling through the drawers and shelves above and surrounding the desk itself. Many of the documents were just receipts and old banking records, most in French. That's when he spotted it. At the bottom of an old promise note, was signed the name Count Cyrano de Richelieu, dated 1829.

"The owner's name is Richelieu," Sam called out, frowning at the rest of the documents. Great, now he was going to have to sit around for hours he didn't have and translate all this shit.

"And man was he an ugly fucker," Dean said from the other side of the room. Sam came up behind him, pointing his own flashlight in the direction Dean was looking.

It was a portrait of a single man, long black hair tied with a slim green ribbon, with brown eyes and dressed in a dignified long blue coat with a white button-up shirt and ruffles at his throat. The picture only showed the man from his waist up, his hands folded delicately behind him.

"He even looks like a pompous ass," Dean commented, dropping the sheet back over the painting and shaking his head.

"Do you think that now we have the guy's name, the ritual will work?" Sam asked.

"Honestly? If he is as powerful as he seems, I really don't think so. We don't even really know if it was him in the first place."

"Hey you two," Kathy called to them. "I think I found something."

They followed her voice to where the desk that Sam had found the name, and she was crouched next to its back and looking carefully behind it.

"Can you push the desk out of the way?" They did as she asked, huffing a little from exertion. The desk was heavier than it looked.

Once the wall was uncovered, they saw what she had glimpsed at before. A low door, no higher than three and a half feet that the desk had hidden. Kathy immediately reached out and tried the knob, but this door was definitely locked. She looked at them expectantly.

Dean shared a glance with Sam for a moment before they nodded slightly, saying, "Ready?"

"One..."

"Two..."

"Three!"

And they both kicked as hard as they could on the door at the same time, the wood giving and crunching inwards. After ducking under the door's frame, Sam reached up and felt no ceiling, standing at normal height. The flashlight showed another door to the side down the hall. Kathy came in after Sam, with Dean following the both of them cautiously.

Instead of busting down the door, they picked the old lock and forced the stubborn, corroded thing open. His room was considerably smaller in the storage room, bordering on claustrophobic with the bookshelves overflowing with papers and texts with a single rickety desk and straight-backed chair. Sam saw an oil lamp on the edge of the desk, and lit it with the match that he was hardly ever without. The warm glow it cast over all the books and wood walls seem to bring out the real charm of the 19th century. There was even a tattered little quill and ink well beside a pile of yellowed, but blank parchment.

Dean glanced around with high feelings of distaste, knowing that they would be researching for quite a while in the compact Library/study.

"I'd say he is the one, considering how much he wanted his room hidden," Kathy spoke, picking up a document from a shelf in nearest her.

"There's still nothing to explain why he is so pissed off or why people were disappearing in the first place," Sam sighed, and grabbed the one book that was sitting on the desk, letting it fall open to whatever page it would. This book, he discovered with slight surprise and anticipation, was in English. Old English, but still understandable.

But as he read, he couldn't stop the growing horror and unease that nestled in the back of his mind.

"I take it back," he said, eyes never leaving the book**,** "this guy was a monster even before he died. And he's absolutely the one we're looking for."

"What did you find?" He asked.

"An old book, older even than Richelieu." Sam flipped through a few more pages, "it's about obtaining immortality."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Kathy frowned, exasperated.

Sam looked up to her face from the desk chair he had sat in a while ago, "And to be sure to death and his minions will never capture thee from thy body, thy must be willing to sacrifice an unredeemable price: thy place in heaven, thy soul. For thy to gain a permanent place on earth, thy must bathe in the elixir of life, the living blood of young mortals. By acting on this, thy will surely never die, and become a godlike creature who walks the earth forever." Sam read.

"Crazy motherfucker. It didn't work, and he killed all those people - is still killing people for no reason." Dean said after a long pause.

Sam nodded, trying to figure out something to say to Kathy, "Hey," he said, and she looked to him with a hopeless expression. "We haven't found anything yet, okay? I'm gonna call Bobby, and we are going to do everything we can find him. Alright?"

"Thank you," She said softly, breathing deeply despite the musty air.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Yeah," Sam said with his cell pressed to his ear, "I understand, do you need anything else?"

Dean listened halfway to Sam's conversation on the phone and waited for him to hang up. He was itching to get onto the actual _hunting_ part of this case, after hearing how messed up the spirit really was. His skin crawled when he heard what the guy had been doing to people even before he died.

"What's Bobby think of this whole mess?" He asked Sam.

"He says that we should find the bodies before trying any more exorcisms. That that might be what he's attached himself to. And that we should be about ten times more careful than usual." Sam said distractedly, looking over the book that he had found in the secret room again.

"Aren't we always? I mean, we didn't have too much trouble with the last poltergeist like this one." Dean said cockily.

"Yeah, but that one wasn't nearly as old as this one. Or as focused," Sam pointed out.

"Focused?"

"Dean, all this ghost wants to do is live. Be on Earth. It was probably why such a rich guy would seclude himself in the middle of nowhere for so long," Sam explained, eyes widening as he read further in the dirty dead man's memoir.

Dean saw the way his body tensed and his brow furrowed. "What now?"

"Nothing, at least about the ghost. The author of this book must really have been completely insane. There's a passage on how to sacrifice for the Devil properly, and it's gotta be the most disgusting thing I've ever read or imagined…" Sam closed the book quickly, forcing himself to set it aside.

Dean made a face, not even wanting to think about what else could be lurking between the covers of that book.

They had headed back to the Inn after five-thirty, not really wishing to be caught in the house after dark. They may have been hunters, but all the disappearances had happened after nightfall, and they didn't want to risk it until it was absolutely necessary. It was about eight now, and Dean and Sam went out for dinner after Sam's face felt a little less green. He was torn between wanting to burn the book to cinders or rip it apart and then flinging it into the ocean, but that would have required touching it again. Dean was right: people they will never be able to understand.

But after twenty minutes or so and a few teasing comments from Dean later, Sam had let himself forget the nasty novel and keep a light conversation going with his brother. It was only the second hunt that he had been on with Dean and Sam felt as if he had never left, as if the whole of four years at Stanford had been one long and tragic nightmare.

They got back to the Inn at eleven or so, after a few rounds at the local bar. Pleasantly buzzed, they got ready for bed and exchanged a hearty goodnight before turning off the light and tucking in.

Of course, after such a great evening out with Dean, Sam just had to dream again. And it may not have been about bodies on the ceiling or werewolves, but it was on the same level of fucked up.

Sam Winchester could not have hated his psychic abilities more until that night.

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	7. Shadowy Rage

**Chapter Six: Shadowy Rage**

_Sam walked down the hall again. This time, the turn to the corridor that led to the basement stair was completely unblocked, just another hall in the house. The girl stood at the end of it, her back to him. Her head turned, and she looked back, but it was as if she didn't see him, as if he were the spirit and not her._

_She crept forward, opening the door slowly, trying not to make a noise. She walked down the stair with the same amount of care and concentration. She held a candle in her small hand, constantly turning back to see if there was anyone following her. The light from the flame revealed the basement much as it was when Sam had been there earlier, but all the sheets and dust were absent. _

_The girl walked up to the desk against the back wall, setting the candle on its edge before moving the chair out and away from it. She crawled slowly underneath were the leg space was, shifting around for a moment before there was a tumbling click, and the hidden door was pushed open gently. She scooted back to grasp the candle, and then crawled through the door way. _

_Sam followed her through all of this, not feeling at all, as if he were just a waif with no physical form. And in this place, he figured that he must be._

_The girl made her way down the shadowy hallway without hesitation, as if she had been there before. She came to the last door, the one to the stuffy library, and dug her hand around in her aproned-dress pocket and producing a key. It fit into the lock perfectly, and Sam followed her into the morbid study. _

_Again, her eyes slid over every crevice, looking behind her. She was nervous. The key was still in her hand, and she placed the candle on the shelf directly behind the desk, her small fingers brushing over the books until she came to one she obviously recognized, the one she had been searching for. _Theory and History of Dante,_ the faded blue spine read in silver lettering._

_She pulled it from its perch, setting it next to the parchment on the desk. With her other hand, still holding the key, she reached into the empty space and struggled for a moment before her arm turned and a loud _crack_ was heard coming from outside the door. She pulled the key back out, and replaced the book. After pocketing the key again, she turned back to her candle and froze._

_Sam turned to see were her gaze had fallen, and narrowed his eyes. The other presence that had entered without a sound was a humanoid shape, but made of only blackness, total shadow. Why couldn't he see who it was? Did that mean that the mysterious girl had never been able to see it?_

_The black shape moved quickly, and grabbed the girl's arm, dragging her out of the room. This time Sam did not follow, could not. He was focused completely on the key that had been somehow dropped to the floor right in front of him. And it was like he had a body once more; he bent down and grasped the key, a heavy metal weight in his palm. Still warm from the dangerously adventurous girl's hand…_

_A scream. The first time he had heard her voice, and it was frightened and pleading and in pain. Again, he was back to being a spirit, intangible as he moved out of the door and through another, that had suddenly appeared straight across from the study. Oil lamps lit the tiled room, and he was back to where he had first seen the girl. Except, now, it was larger, and behind the bathtub was a table with restraints. The black shadow forced the hysterical girl onto it, her head hanging off of the edge as it strapped her down._

_The Shadow produced a glinting, winking kitchen knife, and the girl's next scream was choked in her own blood, as it drained precisely into a basin right underneath her now lolling head. Her eyes a cold, dead grey, saw one last thing, the last thing that Sam was able to see in the dream._

_The bath, which had been a pristine white, was filled with dark blood that was still congealing, still somewhat fresh. In the tub, pale limbs relaxed in a perverse, leisurely way lay a brown haired woman who could not have been more than twenty five. She was stroking over her arms and shoulders, as if she were washing in a bath of bubbled water…_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sam, had he not had the reserve of a practiced iron stomach, would have puke right then and there. He knew the difference between a nightmare and a vision, and this had been a real event, however disgusted with humanity it made him at the moment. Of course, the hold he had over his stomach did not extend over his ability to sweat profusely or his heavy breathing.

He rested his head on his knees and tried to calm his breathing. It had been the most intense vision by far. A child's psychic abilities could often exceed an adult's, and if a child had died in a horrible way like that…it was no wonder he was so shaken by the experience. All of the girl's feelings had been imparted on him. Sam rubbed a hand over his throat, physically attempting to dispel the aching sting of the knife edge.

His other hand, still fisted, shook by his side as he glanced over at the other bed. Dean was out like a rock, and Sam considered his options. He could slip into Dean's bed, and try not to wake him unsuccessfully, and _maybe_ get some sleep, or he could just stay up the rest of the night…morning, he noticed, the clock read 3:18.

Sam sighed, leaning his shoulders against the headboard of his bed and let hit his forearms lay on his knees, releasing all the tension in his muscles that had built up in his vision. When he let loose his fists, though, something dropped between his legs from his right hand. A strangled, half restrained noise escaped his mouth when he focused on the object in the moonlight.

"Wh-what?" Dean sat up quickly, hand already in front of him with a gun in his palm. His eyes fell on Sam's shaking form, whose mouth was opening and half closing in shock.

"Sammy?" Dean moved to his side carefully, sleep warded temporarily from his system by adrenalin and worry.

Sam just shook his head, not wanting to know how it had happened, but infatuated in fascination by the possibilities despite his mind shying from the dream.

There, on the bed spread before him, was the key.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It wasn't until sometime around seven until Sam snapped out of his funk. Sam sat on his made bed, holding Styrofoam cup of takeout coffee. He thought Dean had been patient enough by this point, because the dirty blonde (in more ways than one) looked like he was going to implode with all the questions he held at bay.

Sam told his brother as calmly as he could, much more calmly than he was feeling. Dean sat quietly opposite him, soaking up all the details to their fullest.

"So, you've known about your abilities for a while now... why did the dream freak you out so much that you were hyperventilating?" Dean wondered.

"Because this," he held up the metal key, "was in my hand when I woke up."

Dean frowned at the object. He reached out slowly, letting his fingers grazed key, to assure himself it was real.

"That's a new one..." Dean smiled wryly, "you should probably call Missouri,"

Sam shook his head, surprisingly. "Wait until after this hunt is over. We have answers, and I think we should see where this leads us first. Kathy's worried and waited long enough."

Dean could tell his brother was wired and wanted to finish this case was almost a feverish desperation. He didn't need a degree in psychology (though sometimes he felt he had one in Samology) to know how much the girl ghost was affecting Sam.

"Let's get moving then," Dean squeezed Sam's shoulder as he stood up, already dressed and looked prepared to take on the world. Sam closed his eyes and sighed, relaxing under Dean's hand. Its warmth was solid and anchored him in the now, the reality of the situation. He would worry about his little rendezvous with ghosts and fucked up history lessons later.

They called Kathy and told her they had a new lead, but asked her to stay away for a while. They didn't want her to find her husband the way they were pretty sure that they were going to find him.

She consented tiredly, asking Dean to update should anything change. Sam was back on his laptop, declaring that the local library was a dud and researched all he could about the Count. He found what he was looking for on a French collector's website, of all things. A bunch of historians had compiled much of their findings about Richelieu, and Sam found what he was looking for in minutes.

"He did have a wife," Sam said while Dean looked over his shoulder, "Agnes Camille, he married her when she was sixteen."

"Sixteen? Must have been a pretty young marriage…"

"Dean, the Count was thirty-two."

"What? That sly jackass…How did he manage that?" Dean looked at the screen.

"Don't you remember anything from history? This happened all the time," Sam shook his head.

"Nope, history was never as fun as passing notes with Amanda…" Dean smiled in remembrance, "You remember her?"

Sam's muscles tensed at the mention of the girl, "What? Was that in Casper?"

"Yep, my last year in high school," Dean grinned wider, "Definitely some good times, you know?"

Sam nodded tightly. "Yeah. Hey, it says here that the Count and she left four years later, apparently she was pretty sick."

"That could be why they were so obsessed with skipping on death." Dean snorted.

"I think that she was dying of ammonia, they had no idea how to cure that until the 1920's." Sam scrolled over the rest of the page. "That's about it. They have no death records because they came to the Americas."

"Just like we have no idea where they were buried," Dean said, "No cemeteries in the area or around the house. Can't catch a break, can we?"

"Nope, just gotta mess up the house till we figure out what to do next," Sam shut the laptop.

"Our specialty," Dean commented sarcastically.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They made their way down the stairs of the basement and ducked into the small door under the desk. Once back in the library, Dean took Sam's flashlight and shined the light on the bookcases behind the study desk and began to dust off the books. The silver lettering shone in the false light, and Sam pulled the think volume from the shelf letting fall to the floor.

He grabbed the key and shoved his hand into the space, searching for the lock. It slid home a few moments after, and he turned it with some difficulty. The tumblers were in need of some serious oiling from disuse, though Sam was glad that the maintenance was not kept up in such an offensive place.

A loud crack and scrap was heard from behind them, and Sam half expected them to see the black shadow looming in the doorway. Nothing was there however, and Dean handed him back the mag light. Both raised their rock salt guns and stepped lightly onward. The wall straight in front of the door was indented back slightly, and opened diagonally in toward the right. Dean pushed the door open with his boot, and their flashlights lit the space beyond.

The bathroom was dirty, to say the least. The grout had mold and bacteria growing in it from - Sam didn't want to know what. The bath was empty and practically spotless except for the rust around the drain. Straps hung loosely from the torture table, it was empty.

Dean's beam of light slowly rotated over the room, and came to rest on a crumbled form in the corner across from the door on the left.

"Hey!" He called out, seeing pale hands resting on denim-covered shins. The form groaned and managed to move its head up, peering through green eyes at the brothers wearily, but with a hint of relief. Sam immediately ran to him, while Dean kept watch at the door and of the rest of the room.

"Not that I'm not grateful…" A scratchy voice came from the man's split lips, "But who are you? How did you find me?"

"Lucky break," Sam breathed, looking the man over, "Greg, right? Can you move? Are you hurt?"

"Yeah, that's me," Greg's brows furrowed, annoyed that his mind was being slow on its informational intake, "No, I'll be okay. I'm gonna need help standing, though. Haven't eaten in a while."

"I can imagine," Sam nodded, "You're wife's waiting for you. Let's get you out of here."

"Kat's safe?" Greg smiled, "I was so worried…"

"So is she," Sam pulled him up, settling Greg's arm over his shoulder.

"Ah, God, what is that smell?" Dean's arm covered the lower half of his face.

Sam's eyes widened. "A very bad sign. Let's get the hell out of here."

Dean nodded, trying to cope with the stench as best he could as he checked over the room and hallway. Sam was right behind him, practically dragging Greg along. He made sure to look back in intervals, knowing that he had to have Dean's and Greg's back. He was glad that Greg still kept fit, because it would have been a lot harder otherwise.

The smell kept up. It seemed to have permeated throughout the basement, and the first floor. Sam had given up helping Greg walk, and pick him up in a fireman's carry at the bottom of the basement stairs. Dean took up the rear as they power walked/ran down the hall connecting to the foyer, hearing something like thunder, a stampede hitting all the walls and floors and ceiling above them. The ghosts were _pissed_. Black plasma leaked from the cracks in the walls that were getting longer and thicker as the moved past.

Dean threw open the door, letting the dying sunlight into the house. Everywhere else had turned dark, the ectoplasm draining over the stained glass windows. Sam bolted out with Greg, looking behind him as his feet hit the pathway beyond the threshold.

Dean made to run after them, dropping his flashlight and gripping the door in one hand to pull it shut after he made it out. But as soon as he had one foot out the door, two hands on each arm, connected to thin air, seemed to come out from the pits of hell itself and shoved him back inside. His eyes found Sam's as he fell backwards at the last moment, before the door slammed closed.

"DEAN!"

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Come on, you wanna know what happens…

Review like my wonderful reader Celeste, and maybe I'll feel more encouraged to write more for next chapter.


	8. Descending In Flames

**Author's Note: Ooo… that stings. I can't believe I did that.**

**So sorry, anon. I screwed up pretty bad, and I know how annoying it can be when reading… SORRY! I nit pick at things like that constantly. I promise to fix that soon.**

**Here's a new chapter to make up for it!**

**Chapter Seven: Descending In Flames**

Sam nearly dropped Greg and ran after Dean, but forced himself to walk even further away from his brother and gently place Greg to rest against a tree. He ran to the Impala, grabbing a water bottle and cell while keeping vigil over the manor and Greg at the same time.

He handed Greg the water, and watched the other drink it shakily as he dialed Kathy's number.

"_Hello?_" She picked up.

"Kathy, sorry if this is rushed, but you need to get here as fast as you can." Sam babbled, amazingly coherent, into the speaker, "Greg's alive and with me right now. He needs to get to a hospital."

"_I-I'll be right there. Don't worry, I'm two minutes away,_" Kathy was obviously concerned with Sam's tone of voice, but Sam couldn't control his attitude at the moment. He was on edge and need to blow the motherfuckers who had trapped Dean to microscopic pieces.

Sam was practically jumping up and down by the time Kathy reached them. He help load Greg into her Dodge truck, slamming the passenger door shut as Kathy climbed back into the driver's seat.

"You'll never know how much this means to me, to us," Kathy's smile was watery, and then she seemed to note his missing half. "Where's Dean?"

"He's caught inside. Don't worry about us, we need to finish up this hunt, but he needs fluids and food as quickly as possible. I'll call you when it's all done with," Sam rushed his promises, wanting to crawl out of his skin with the need to go after Dean.

Kathy nodded and drove off, hardly glancing in the review mirror as he ran back toward the house.

Of course the door was a bust, the energy the two ghosts had was incredible. He went to the trunk of the Impala and pulled out the sledgehammer and salt bag. He slipped an iron knife into his boot and some of the salt into his pockets before retrieving the flashlight from the grass by the tree line. The shot gun had been dropped right in front of the door, and he picked that up as well, shoving it into a back holster that he had bought from a 'normal' hunting general store not too far back.

Again, he concentrated on the hammer's head, wrapping his own energy around it before bringing it down on the double doors. Five strikes later, and the door was in splinters. He discarded the hammer on the entryway, holding the flashlight ahead of him in his left hand and the shot gun in his right.

The foyer was empty, and the overwhelming noises had ceased. He opened the door with relative ease relative ease; there were no books from the ghosts this time. Shot gun at the ready, he stepped forward.

This room was large, and though his small flame only penetrated the blackness so far, the windows along the wall could not be blocked off, and some of the last rays of sunlight pierced through. It was a ballroom, he figured, with the smooth menagerie and absolutely huge fireplace to his right about 20 feet away. He even noticed some hanging chandeliers crystal, bulky, and dusty. A groan echoed in the air and then finally saw the crumbled form of Dean not two yards from the window nearest the fireplace.

"Dean!" Sam almost flew over to him, he felt so light hearted, "You alright?"

"Keep your panties on, the ghosts just knocked me around a bit," Dean said, grimacing as he got to his feet. Somehow, he still had the rock salt gun in his hands.

"Good, cause we need to get the hell out of here,"

"No problems there, Sammy," Dean huffed, squinting around the room.

And then the door shut.

"Guess they don't like that idea," Dean growled, "Stupid fuckers-"

And Dean was promptly thrown against the window, which cracked when his temple hit.

Sam was next to him in an instant, and Dean shook it off as quickly as he could. Two people, a woman with brown hair and elegant hoop-skirt dress and a man with black hair and a green long button-up coat, stood in front of the fire place.

"Il revint à son frère ..." The woman, who they knew was Agnes, spoke.

"Juste comme tu savais qu'il le ferait," The man, Count Cyrano, answered her.

"Damn it, I wish we could understand what they were saying!" Dean looked between the two.

"Somehow," Sam said tensing warily at the smiley look they received from the crazed couple, "I don't think we want to know,"

"Run on the count of three?" Dean asked aloud, not even bothering to whisper, suddenly favoring the language barrier.

"Sounds good enough to me," Sam raised his gun.

"One," Dean cocked his weapon,

"Two," Sam made sure to keep his gaze locked on the other two in the room,

"Three!" Both shot a ghost, and broke out into a run. The spirits dissipated, but reassembled themselves seconds later. The boys made it to the door, but were swept from their feet before they could try to get it open.

Dean was straddled by the Count, blocking the kitchen knife that swiped just millimeters from his throat. Cutting it close was a Winchester strategy, it seemed. He managed to shoot the ghost again, and regain his footing before backing into the wall.

Sam was able to salt Agnes away from him before she could touch him. The spirits were strong, and faster than any that the brothers had encountered before. He could tell that the salt and even holy water was going to be minimal aid to them. But as he drove Agnes away for the second time, he saw the girl in the blue dress again.

She wasn't fazed by their struggle; she was just facing them, and pointing steadily at the fireplace.

_Fire?_ Sam thought, and then wanted to kick himself.

"Dean!" He yelled.

"A little busy here," Dean barked back, slashing at the Count with his own iron knife.

"If I can distract them, you need to get out of here," Sam said, splashing holy water at Agnes, who dodged and went to strangle him.

"What? Hell no!" Dean croaked out, stabbing Cyrano, "I'm not gonna leave you here by yourself!"

"You have to! We need all the lighter's fluid we have; we have to burn the place down!" Sam pushed Agnes away, shooting her square in the chest before throwing open the door. "I can handle myself, but if we both run out of the house we don't stand a chance,"

Dean knew Sam was right. Sam was a logical thinker, and he hardly ever insisted that they split up during a hunt. The last time that had happened was in Arizona with the werewolf when they had to pretend that Sam was bait. _Six_ years ago.

"Fine!" Dean ground out, ducking under the kitchen knife before stabbing the bastard again. He fled out of the room, sprinting faster than he ever had.

"Be careful!" He yelled back, but was cut off by the door slamming shut again. That did wonders for his nerves, let me tell you.

He listened to the sound of gun shots as they faded and he ran down the stairs, nearly three at a time. He heard Sam yelling at the ghosts, trying to keep their attention focused on him.

Dean almost stopped at the sight of a young girl holding open the front door for him. He had remembered the things that she had shown Sam, remembered his brother's description of her. But he just barreled straight past her towards the Impala, huffing out a thank you as he went. He didn't see her smile as he retrieved the three containers of igniters and an extra set of match books.

He started on the bottom level, running down to the basement out of instinct and dumping nearly a whole container into the two most hidden rooms in his haste. He threw a match behind him as he ducked under the door and ran back up the basement stairs. He could feel the heat on his back as he took the other two fluid containers and flung lighter fluid all over the first floor, running some over the stairs to the second level before pausing and dropping the second empty container.

He saved the last for the top level, not pouring any over the stairs leading to it. He ran up to the door where Sam was 'trapped' and tried to kick it down. Dean had hoped that they hadn't sealed it this time, believing that he had run. No such luck.

"SAM!" He screamed at the top his lungs, and was shoved to the side suddenly. The push didn't knock him off his feet, just out of the way of the door right before it was ripped off its hinges and slammed into the wall opposite of the ballroom entrance.

_What in the hell?_ Dean stood dumbstruck for a minute.

"Dean! Come on, what are you waiting fo-" Sam's voice was interrupted by a strangled gasp. Dean saw that Cyrano had him by the neck, and was raising the blade to his throat…

"FUCK NO!" Dean yelled, physically ramming into the ghost's form. He didn't think that it was a spirit that he would probably pass through; he only knew that it was trying to hurt Sammy, and _that was not going to happen_.

The ghost was surprisingly shoved away, relenting his grip on Sam. Sam only breathed in and out once, before throwing the last bit of holy water he had. Dean was able to stumble and keep his balance after the half tackle, but he immediately went to work. Flinging the lighter fluid everywhere possible, looking like a maniac running around in circles and attempting to escape whatever the ghosts tried to throw at him. Sam was doing his best to cover him, but he was holding back everything he could spare because he was low on his ammo.

With the door gone, they had no problem running out that time. Dean flicked a lit match behind him, and the ballroom burst into an inferno. Dean doused the rest of the hall behind them with fluid before lighting it as well.

The screams and thumping were back full force, the ectoplasm glittering in the flame's light. After descending the stairs and getting half way to the door, Dean struck the final match and sealed the fate of the mansion. Sam and Dean hurtled out the front door the final time, rolling to ground outside and breathing in gasps.

The smell was back, but in the evening wind, it stunk more with finality and tasted of bitterly won victory. They saw the two menacing ghosts once more, moving toward them with fury and a promise of pain in their eyes. But the flames seemed to change, morphing into hands and chains that held them back, and Sam swore he saw the girl's blue grey eyes and devious smile in the background.

Dean and Sam stood side by side, just watching the mansion burn for what seemed like hours, savoring and deliberating over their hard won battle. Then Dean nudged Sam with his shoulder, and the two of them headed back to the Impala, driving away with the moon on the horizon and left the greedy fire to consume and purify the defiled Crestmoor Manor.

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	9. The New Case In Mammoth

**Chapter Eight: The New Case of Mammoth**

Three months of travel and insignificant hunts, before Sam and Dean stumbled upon their next big shithole of a case. It was just another day for them, really, passing through another small town about twenty miles from Mammoth National Park in Kentucky. And they would have passed right on through the town with a single no-tell motel had Sam and Dean not noticed the flyers.

"It's like a totem pole of disappearances…" Dean's eyes went up and down the wood light post.

"And all of them are only months apart." Sam read over the information quickly, "Most of them were partnered climbers,"

"Must not have been very good campers, then, to get so easily lost in the woods…" Dean looked over at Sam, "Or is this all too coincidence to be coincidence?"

"I only see one camper of the whole bunch, the rest are climbers, so I'd have to say there's something definitely fishy going on here," Sam said.

"Fishy?" Dean laughed at Sam's word choice, "I agree,"

"Well, I guess it's a pretty popular thing for some many tourists to come here. Freakin' spelunkers," Sam snorted.

"Spelunkers? What the hell are those?" Dean chuckled at the name.

"Cave divers, just another form of climber, I guess," Sam stiffened slightly, "I have no idea what makes anyone want to do that though…"

"Have to agree with you there, things are bad enough above ground." Dean shook his head, "I hate to ask this, but do you think that this could be a case?"

"Most likely, with our luck…" Sam groaned, "I'll look into it online for a while, I think that there's an internet database with the history of this place,"

Dean gave Sam a 'why in the world would you know that?' look.

"What? I saw it on a poster…" Sam explained.

"Me and my Einstein brother here," Dean sighed as if ashamed, "College didn't teach you anything about having fun, did it?"

Dean almost immediately took back the comment, afraid that what he said would throw Sam into an angsty mood, but Sam just laughed and glared playfully.

"Hey, I learned plenty drinking games…" He defended. Dean laughed along with him, glad for Sam's ability to finally cope with what had happened and focusing on the good memories at the mention of Stanford.

"And here I thought I was Brain!" Sam elbowed Dean in the ribs before dashing into the motel room.

"That in no way makes me Pinky! You hear, Sam? I'm gonna get you for that!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You sure we should talk to the ranger instead of just heading out, Sam?" Dean asked, the FBI badge burning a hole into his pocket, "We already know enough from the flyers and website to be pretty sure…"

"Dean, do you know anything about these cave systems? I have map, but we need someone to help us, and I'm pretty sure that no hunter Bobby or dad knows will be able to," Sam sighed, "I just hope we can convince them to send someone with us,"

"Yeah, I'm more hoping that we don't end up going in at all," Dean said dryly, "I mean, if we get lost down there…"

"We're in deep shit. I get it, I really do, but there's too many people getting hurt for us to ignore it. We'll call Bobby and give him all the details before we go in, promise," Sam felt weird in their role reversal. Dean was hardly ever one to turn down a hunt, and it was Sam that was usually trying to convince the blond to stay out of it.

They walked into the ranger's office, went through the whole jurisdiction routine, and got all the information they needed to fill in the cracks. The ranger, Frank Norris (any relation to Chuck Norris? Dean had been dying to ask,) was helpful in supplying directions to the nearest and, in his opinion, most experienced spelunker in the area.

"Still don't think this is a good idea," Dean grumbled on the car ride to the climber's house.

"I'm not really eager on diving down hundreds of feet under rocks either, alright? So stop complaining, it can't be any worse than that damn plane incident of yours," Sam said flatly.

"Dude, I told you to stop bringing that up already," Dean shivered in the reminder of that vile memory. Dean plus plane plus demonically possessed pilot did not equal happy dreams for the hunter.

"Uh-huh. And when did you ever stop teasing me about the meat locker?" Sam glared in spite.

Dean and Sam were silently fuming for the rest of the trip.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Carl Grayson was totally on board for their little out going, and even more pumped that he would be aiding in an 'official FBI investigation'. Dean and Sam's expressions of wariness did nothing to deter him.

By the time that they reached one of the many cave entrances, Dean was hoping that some supernatural baddy would suddenly appear and maul the guy to shut him up. And judging by the look on Sam's face, he was guessing that he was not alone.

"…and the guy just wouldn't listen. Tourists, man! I told him not to go down that rock face, and what does he do?" Carl didn't seem to need their answer, or for them to talk at all to have a full fledged conversation with them. "Of course you know. He went down that damn rock face and broke his leg, and I had to drag his ass out of there to the surface and wait for the stupid helicopter to pick him up for five hours. And the guy would not stop bitchin' and moanin' about every little thing…"

Sam thought that they had been walking on the trail for a good half an hour, and in that time, Carl had not paused to even take a fucking breath. He was like an info-mercial voice-over, or an auction house bid director, or any other thing that would not shut _the hell up_. Sam was almost wishing the man were a mime, and mimes reminded him of clowns. Clowns were a no-no in Sammy's world.

"Are we here?" Dean interrupted Carl without care.

"Yep, this is Discovery's Door. You guys are going to love this! I go through here all the time-" Carl started another rant.

"Look, Mr. Grayson-"

"Call me Carl," the man even smiled like the devil's used car salesman, it was so wide and cheesy.

"Carl, we're not on vacation here. We need to see if we can find any trace of the people who went missing, so please keep conversation to a minimum. Just tell us how to climb and what to avoid, and listen and watch for any sign of the missing people. Sound like a plan?" Sam said, almost _commanded_ the guy.

"Sounds fine to me, chief. I'll be just as quiet as a mouse, you'll see, the FBI will be wantin' to hire me as a private consultant in these parts in no time. Just make sure your gear is on all secure and you have a good firm hold on your ropes and you'll do good. Yes sir-ee, I'm following orders from an FBI officer…" Carl continued talking into the cave entrance, oblivious to the looks of horror that passed between Sam and Dean.

As Dean pointed out, supernatural things are easy to understand, its regular people you have to be scared of. More of the small-town and simple-minded variety than the crazy psycho-killer kind type, Sam noted.

At least you could shoot the latter with a good conscious.

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	10. Den of Despair

**Author's Note: Yay! I got an applause! **

**Hope you like this chapter, newXmoonXfox, and yes, there will be Wincest. It's one of those eventual things, but in a couple of chapters or so…not sure exactly how many. Thanks to all who reviewed and alerted/favorited me!**

**Chapter Nine: Den of Despair**

Everything was dark. The only light came from their helmet/visor lights, and the cave was pretty much everything that Sam and Dean had expected it to be. Extremely rocky, vast, and rough, like out of some nature film.

What they didn't really consider or find all that appealing was what Carl calling shaft climbing. There was this narrow opening at the end of the path that Carl had led them down after climbing up a rock wall for almost an hour. The opening was just big enough to allow some one Sam's size, but not much bigger or wider. Dean could feel his shoulders being squished just looking at the hole.

Carl just kept up with his talking as well. He explained that they would crawl through the shaft, only a hundred or so yards, until reaching the other side and the largest junction in the caving system. All while telling them about his childhood puppy, Chichi.

They had officially branded the man as crazy. And learned very quickly that there was no off switch to the human ear. Dean was annoyed enough that he looked like he could have turned some of the rocks into sand…using his teeth.

It had been nearly three hours of searching and learning the 'ropes' of climbing and navigating the map and shafts before Sam decided that enough was enough.

"Carl, I think that we're done for the day," he announced, wanting to laugh at the nearly ecstatic expression Dean wore.

"Oh, that's too bad; I was ready to keep going. I thought that we were going to keep looking until we found something," Carl said, disappointed. But he perked up moments later while telling them more about the history of the cave's changes and the founding of Mammoth as a recreational national park. Normally Sam might have found the tour-guide lecture somewhat appealing, but he was just plain tired of hearing Carl's voice at that point.

The sun was not too far down in the sky, and Dean checked his watch. 3:40.

"Thanks for all your help. We'll look more around the forested area for now, and call you if we need to go back in the caves." Sam was saying.

"No problems at all, call me if you need anything. I actually do know the surrounding woods pretty well-"

"I think we can manage," Dean said with a tight, forced smile.

"Great! Hope to see you soon," Carl bid them farewell and walked back to his car.

"God _damn_, he's worse than you were when you were four, learning how to read," Dean shook his head.

"We've met demons less excruciating than that man," Sam agreed.

"Hey, did all the spelunkers who went missing pay to have a guide?" Dean asked.

"No, I think about two-thirds of them were professionals or just experienced. Why?" Sam countered.

"Cause I'm beginning to think that the guy who broke his leg did it on purpose. Hell, I was ready to jump off one of the ledges."

Sam laughed, "I might've had to join you on that. You'd leave me to deal with that walking nightmare alone?"

Dean sighed, as if put-upon, "Some sacrifices must be made. You were going to be my distraction as I ran for it,"

Sam rolled his eyes and shoved Dean playfully. "Don't abandon me with that weirdo! Anyway, we need to go back in there,"

"What?!" Dean looked ready to jump out of his skin at the suggestion.

"We needed to get rid of him to actually hunt, Dean," Sam said, "As fun as it would be to watch that guy get offed by a ghost or whatever would be, he probably would just get in the way." Sam reasoned.

"So you just sent off the guy who knows how to work all this gear and navigate the caves and shit so we could get ourselves in a fuck load of trouble?"

"Dean, we can do this by ourselves. I figured out the map, there's markings and posts everywhere so we won't get lost, and we can handle the stupid climbing gear. We're good." Sam assured him, "Unless you have some great hidden fear of caves that you're just now letting me know about."

"No, I'm more worried that we'll screw up bad and get hurt without a chance of getting any real help and starving to death or something fun like that," Dean groused.

"I realize that I'm not the happiest person to be around sometimes, but has anyone told you that you're a fantastic optimist?" Sam raised an eye brow, and Dean stuck his tongue out at him. "We'll watch out for each other and kick ass just like usual. The EMF meter didn't show anything, so we don't have to worry about invisible attacks. We'll be fine,"

Dean just grumbled and followed his freakishly tall and calm brother back into the caves, trying not to wonder about all the things that could go horribly wrong.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Found something!" Dean yelled out, two hours later, twitching as he heard his voice echo. So the cave creeped him out, okay? What ancient place didn't have a fucking monster in it? It was the whole cave-ins possibility that was fucking with his brain.

"That's…something I never wanted to see in my entire life," Sam's face twisted as he saw the detached shouldered arm, muscle and nerve ends torn and the skin…chewed on?

"Yeah, I think I could have gone another three lifetimes with out seeing that either," Dean noticed something in the thing's hand, and grimacing, he went to pick it up.

"I'd say there's a monster here…what is it?" Sam looked at the object in Dean's hand.

"A…what's that thing called? A climbing clip? It's pretty nice…" Dean admired the steel.

"Must have been one of the professionals," Sam shook his head at the severed appendage. "I'll look further in; you…go ahead and play with the dead person's clip…" Sam wanted to laugh bitterly at the fascination his brother had in all things shiny and manly. Case-in-point: the Impala and his guns and knives.

"That sounded really wrong, dude," Dean scowled at his brother's fading chuckle. He focused his light beam on Sam's form as Sam squeezed through a wide fissure in the rock wall that they had not seen before.

He came closer to the opening to peer inside after Sam, not wanting his brother to be alone for a second now that they were sure that it was something supernatural at work.

Sam moved his head around slowly as he strained his eyes to look for any more signs of carnage. Truth be told, he was probably as freaked out about the cave as Dean was, but he had taken the initiative as the 'comic relief' this time around, as Dean had done some many times. It was stunning how the two of them operated, pushing and pulling at each other's strings and picking up the slack that the other left behind. The role reversal in this situation was done so smoothly that neither noticed nor minded; their focus on the gruesome and stomach-churning case.

Sam's mini spot-light landed on what looked like a wet rock, dark and uneven, but Sam went in closer to see it because something seemed off about the 'rock'. Once he was about two yards from it, he realized what the weird thing about it was. The dark blob was bleeding, and Sam cursed every biology class he had ever taken.

It was a human liver, fleshy and torn, attached to what he knew to be intestines.

"Fucking hell…" Sam said aloud, taking one step closer so as to not fall over in disgust and surprise.

"Sam?" Dean asked when Sam spoke, trying to look where Sam's light fell, but couldn't discern neither heads nor tails of whatever it was. Sam moved forward, and dropped out off sight with an indignant yelp.

"Sam!" Dean pushed himself through the fissure and ran toward where Sam had fallen through. The edges around the hole that Sam had missed with his first search were crumbling, and Dean had to stay a good few feet back to ensure that he would not meet the same fate as Sam.

"Sam!" He called out again, laying his whole body flat to the ground and army crawling closer, like he had been told to do with weak ice over water. He was able to poke his over the edge and look down.

"I'm alright," Sam called up, his eyes squinting against the light that his brother's head light shone down in his face. "It wasn't that much of a fall, and there's an underground well or pond here…fuck its cold!"

"I can imagine," Dean chuckled, albeit hysterically, "I'll get some rope. You watch out alright? I don't remember seeing anything about an underground lake on the map…"

"Yeah, yeah," Sam said, standing in thigh-deep water as he pulled out his gun, just in case. "Just hurry up, already,"

His head whirled around when heard the first splash, not liking the idea that he wasn't alone in the murky water. His head light had somehow survived the water, but didn't provide him with much visibility.

"Shit," He muttered under his breath, pleading in his mind for Dean to hurry the hell up.

The next splash was considerably closer, and this time when Sam turned, he came almost nose to nose with the monster of the cave. A grey face with pale, pupiless eyes and jagged bared teeth growled at Sam from only three inches away.

He fired as first instinct, and the thing was down. It didn't get up.

"Hey! Get the hell offa me!" Sam heard from above, as well as more splashing around the lake.

_No, there couldn't have been just _one_ of these things down here; we had to stumble into a freaking nest of them!_

Sam's thoughts were split between asking the ultimate pessimistic and ironically optimistic question _what the hell else could go wrong_ and worrying over Dean, who he heard fire at least three shots.


	11. What Can and Cannot Be Done

**Chapter Ten: What Can and Cannot Be Done**

Sam shot down two more, and scanned the cavern for signs of movement. There didn't seem to be any more, and silence prevailed in the caves. The quiet worried Sam, until Dean started cursing up a storm.

"Stupid fucking slimy ass bastards try to sneak up on me again – Fuck that was gross! Sam? Sam you alright down there?" His head stuck over the edge again.

"Yeah, I got attacked too. What the hell were those things?" Sam called up as Dean finally dropped the rope down.

"I don't know. I wanna say Windego - but we shot 'em dead with just guns." Dean grunted as Sam scaled rope and he held in place. When Sam reached the top, he started winding the line up and reattaching it to the backpack.

"See anything other than the ass end of ugly down there?"

"I did a... it's just body parts. No one who's missing is a lie. And we killed about seven of those things together... but..." Sam's brows furrowed.

"But what?" Dean pressed, but could sense that Sam was very upset.

"There's no way of knowing how many there are. Or if there are more layers like this one." Sam sighed.

"Okay, so we'll regroup and restock and then hunt some more tomorrow-" Dean began.

"NO! You're not getting the point Dean. We don't know how many there are even in just this area, and there are over 300 miles of this cave system – do you really want to stay and search them all? It would take a hundred years! I bet you if we went to the next park station, thirty miles from here, there's gonna be a whole other batch of missing persons reports." Sam ran both hands through his hair. "If it was just a Windego or two, I'd say that the job's done. But these things…they've got the advantage and probably more in number than I'm willing to guess."

"Oh…well… just…FUCK!" Dean threw the metal clip he was still holding at the wall in frustration and realization. "I don't want to stay here the rest of my life! We've got better evil things to hunt. Shit, shit, shit…" Dean looked like he was about to explode. "We can't stay here…"

"I know, Dean!" Sam shouted back, "Look, I'm gonna call Bobby and see if he knows any hunters that are willing to stay and look into it longer just to be sure that no one else will get hurt. I think we got enough of them to scare off the rest for a while; they should stay clear of this area if they smell their kind's blood here." Sam attempted to be logical.

"I hate this." Dean almost whispered, he sounded so hopeless. "They've killed that many people already, and it's a national freakin' part so people who are adventurous dumb shits will keep coming…and we can't even burn the place down this time!"

"I know…" Sam had been hit by the whole futility of their fight in this situation, the same self-deprecating feelings that came when they were too late to save a victim that they had promised to keep safe…the same as Darcy and Ben and Jess…

He shook his head and almost smacked his forehead for letting those thoughts take over. There was no use falling into a destructive reverie a mile down from the surface of the earth. It was not going to help those who had died, or those who were alive who might need their aid later on.

"Come on," Dean said, snapping out of the depressing rut first like always. They picked up their soggy and beat up gear and made their way out of the caves.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Bobby said that he would send Jarron over there. Apparently the guy's been looking for an exciting place to settle down, and what could be more fun for a hunter than guaranteed game?" Sam's sarcasm felt bitter, even to him. They had just passed the state line and were driving into Illinois.

"I'm glad someone's happy with that fucked up situation," Dean growled. "Some hunters scare me more than monsters. Actually, all of them do on bad day,"

Sam snorted. "Know what you mean. At least there was someone who was willing to take the place on long term."

"I don't think we've ever not finished a hunt before," Dean breathed out, shaking he head, "Who'd have ever thought: The famous Winchesters couldn't tackle a simple shoot and kill hunt."

"Oh, so we're famous now?" Sam smiled, "I don't know if I would call our infamy a good thing. We've made too many enemies,"

"I don't think we've made enough; they keep coming back. I don't think we'll have made enough until they run away screaming when they see who's hunting them,"

"Unfortunately, monsters and ghosts and demons are not as smart as we would like to give them credit for, and that only works in our favor less than half the time,"

"Yeah, well, this hunt just sucked some serious shit," Dean tightened his grip on the wheel. "Never felt so fuckin' depressed after a hunt before,"

"Wish I could say the same," Sam looked out the dark window. It was a moonless night and the stars were much more visible than usual.

"Thinking about Stanford?" Dean suddenly asked. _Way to open up a can of worms Dean. Why don't you just choke yourself on your own foot?_ He thought to himself after he blurted out the question.

But Sam just kept looking out the car window at the stars. "A little. Can't seem to miss it much, though,"

Dean glanced at him, surprised. "Why? Other than how it ended, it sounded like you had a pretty good life there."

Sam smiled ruefully. "I found myself thinking about being on a hunt with you all the time." He laughed a little, "I don't know what I would have done after I finished law school. I mean, I loved Jess and Ben, but…I couldn't see myself living behind a white-picket fence and all."

Dean swallowed. He didn't know what to say to that without sounding like a complete ass or a total chick. Decisions, decisions…

"I-" Dean cleared his throat, "I'm glad that you're back, Sammy. It sucks how you got here, but…I missed you."

Sam turned to his brother. It was the first time that Dean had ever really said anything about them hunting again, and Sam just had to smile.

"I missed you too," Sam leaned against the door, tired and content for the first time since the hunt had begun.

Dean felt that it was worth sounding all emotional to get that smile out of Sam at the end of the whole screwy hunt. He certainly felt better, even if he'd never admit it.

And he smiled as he stared out into the open, empty road in front of him and Sammy fell asleep in the passenger seat like he used to before he left for college.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Aww…CHICK FLICK MOMENT! Alright, I know some of you want to kill me for it, but they really don't happen to often in this story between the two boys, I promise.

Review if you liked it!


	12. Dude, It's THE Demon

**Author's Note: Just wanted to thank Celeste and newXmoonXfox for reviewing.**

**Hope you enjoy this chapter, loves!**

**Chapter Eleven: Dude, It's **_**THE**_** Demon**

"I can't believe that we were there for nearly a week and couldn't figure it out and Bobby came and knew what it was in two minutes," Sam groaned as he set his duffle bag next to his bed.

"Yeah, dumb ass Trickster with his damn candy fetish," Dean flopped down on his bed. "We were really suckers to fall for his game for so long,"

Sam snorted. "I'm just sorry that I didn't get to stab the bastard myself,"

"Yeah, well, I'm lucky like that," Dean smirked, but then it dropped, "I've got this weird feeling though..."

"What?" Sam eyed him cautiously. "Care to share?"

"It's like he's gonna be back to bother us again." Dean shook his head. "I just hope that I'm wrong,"

"Me too," Sam frowned, looking over his virus-infested laptop that he would probably have to get looked at by a professional. "Sorry about the Impala, I'm still pissed that he stole that knife you gave me to slash the tires,"

"As long as you don't sabotage my car, I won't disown you," Dean said, chuckling, but in a way that made Sam wonder if he was kidding or not. "Same thing with your laptop, I know that you paid for that yourself,"

"I guess it was time for a new one anyway, but I'll look into that later," Sam zipped the practically useless computer back into its bag and fell back on his bed as well. "Damn, I'll have to go to the library tomorrow to research for a new gig,"

"Good luck on that," Dean teased, slipping off his boots and jacket.

"Thanks for the support," Sam smiled, shaking his head and throwing one of his pillows at Dean and slipping under the covers before the other could retaliate with more than an indignant, "Hey!"

He felt the pillow hit his back and laughed. "Night, Dean,"

"Night Princess," Dean growled playfully.

"What does that make you?" Sam asked, yawning.

"The knight in shining armor, with the way I have to save your sorry ass every other minute," Dean laughed.

"Riding on a not so shiny steed, I think I saw a scratch on the hood," Sam hid his smile.

"What?!" Dean actually got out of bed, walked to the parking lot shirtless and shoeless to check on the Impala.

Sam couldn't hold back his laughter at the homicidal look that contorted Dean's features when he walked back into the room.

"You bitch," Dean attacked Sam with two pillows. "There's nothing wrong with my baby," Sam was red in the face from laughing so hard, holding up his arms in a half-hearted attempt to defend himself.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**3:19 AM – **

The motel room was nearly shrouded in darkness; only a tiny beam of moonlight intruded through the closed curtains and fell over their beds. Both boys slept dreamlessly deep, a rare and welcome occasion on that night, uninterrupted (since eleven) by thoughts of a hunt or a long drive the next day.

But just as Dean was entering his fifth hour of sleep, his cell buzzed and sung his favorite Metallica guitar solo. He slapped his hand over the noisy device on the end table and opened it up to (hopefully) stop it from waking Sam up.

"Hello?" he grunted, his voice clear despite his annoyance and sleep addled brain.

"Dean?" a gruff voice said.

"Dad?" Dean shot up ramrod straight in his bed.

"Been a while, son," John had a small smile at the startled note in Dean's voice.

"Yeah, thanks for skipping town on us," Dean chided before he could stop himself. He had been hanging out around Sam too much.

"I know Bobby told you why, don't get all pissy on me," John frowned.

"I know, I know." Dean rubbed a hand over his eyes, "So, any reason you're calling at three in the morning or did you just miss me?"

"Well, I'm gonna be huntin' something yellow-eyed and I thought that you might want in," John drawled in a casual tone that did not do justice to the announcement.

Dean nearly choked on his own spit.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"So, he really thinks that he's on the demon's trail?" Sam asked as they speed toward Alabama not ten minutes after Dean finished his call with John.

"He better be, or I'm pushing my baby for nothing _and_ losing sleep," Two things that Dean hated most, besides seeing his brother hurt.

"I'm sure he wouldn't have called us just to spend some quality father-son time," Sam shook his head. "Where's that town again?"

"Huntsville county, it's called East Limestone," Dean snorted, "I can't tell if the demon's tryin' to be ironic or mocking with that one,"

"I know, really, 'Huntsville'?" Sam looked out the dark window. "How far?"

"About five hours," Dean guessed, and turned on whatever was in the tape player. He didn't sing along this time, though, he was too hyped on the chance that they were about to get to revenge their mother, Ben, and Jess.

"Why's dad so sure he can kill the thing, even if we do catch up to him? I know sending him back to hell won't be enough for dad," Sam pondered aloud.

"Don't know, he just told us to haul ass to East Limestone as fast as we could," Dean pulled off the freeway and onto an over pass that led to another. "I'm just glad that we were as close as we were when he called,"

"Me too, since he wanted us there for this," Sam's hands gripped the material on the jeans covering his thighs. He'd never felt so high-strung and full of adrenalin in his life, not even on his first werewolf or poltergeist hunt. Not even on that night when he was fifteen, after the demon had him pinned-

"Don't hurt yourself before we even get there, Sam," Dean teased, half seriously. Sam looked down at his hands: his fingers were ingrained so hard on his thighs that he knew he would have bruises later.

Sam let loose a breathless laugh, "Same to you,"

Dean's knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

They both shared a devil-may-care smile at their anxiousness. The more dangerous the job, the more tense with the fight response their brains would settle them in. Nothing was going to relax them before the hunt was through; their bodies on code-red alert, feeling like they were poised with cutters above a ticking bomb, not sure of which wire to snip that wouldn't blow them to oblivion.

"A gun that can kill anything? I like this Colt guy's style," Dean looked over the gun that his Dad had informed them about. "You sure though?"

"Yeah, tested it myself," John sat on the couch that the motel room had, lumpy and ugly as you would expect from the cheapest place in a backwater town.

"What makes you so sure that he's here, though?" Sam asked.

"Electricity in this town's gone haywire, plus the reports of deaths in the area from 'unexplainable causes' and there' one man who's been missing for a month but was seen acting strangely one night before he disappeared," John said, "that, and he's been seen off and on but people swear up and down that he just vanished into thin air when they tried to get a second look at him,"

"And…?" Sam could tell his Dad wasn't finished.

"And a couple of them have seen him with a yellow tint to his eyes," John smirked, "I'd say that he's here."

"I hope so," Dean said, holding the special gun and aiming it to get a feel for its weight.

"Me too, but…" Sam said, rising from his seat on the bed, "I think that we need some food. I'll take the car and get some takeout while you two…well, just don't burn the motel down, they'll make us pay three times what its worth," Sam smiled, using his Dad's favorite line for when he left his sons to go on a hunt.

"They'd have to catch us first!" Dean called to his back, laughing a little with their father. Sam closed the door behind him and they heard the rumble of the Impala as it roared to life and speed off down the little street.

"He's doing better," John noted with a soft smile.

"Yeah, he only goes emo on me every other day now," Dean smiled back. He didn't know if he could be any more pleased with their situation: they were all together, with their father, and hunting the evil SOB that started their whole vendetta. It was a great family gathering, really.

What more could they want for? They had the means to kill the YED, they knew where he was, and they were all still kicking. Life was good, in a serious, partly morbid kind of way. You wouldn't here Dean complain, though.

"Glad to see that you two are doing so well together," John clapped Dean on the shoulder.

"You and me both. Didn't think that Sam would be able to do much of anything after that Werewolf incident, but somehow he got through it," Dean sighed, trying to remove the memory of Sam's face that night from his mind. "He's stronger than he thinks,"

"And more stubborn than the two of us put together," John chuckled.

"Wherever could he have learned that from?" Dean laughed.

"What a touching scene…" a third voice added to their conversation. Both John and Dean were on their feet instantly, facing the man who had appeared in their motel room in front of the door.

"Really, it hurts to ruin such an After-School-Special bonding moment, but I have to if I want to be ready by the time Sammy get home," the man's eyes flashed yellow, and two other demons who appeared seemingly out of the blue grabbed Dean and John before they could defend themselves. They were tied up and thrown the couch without ceremony.

"You were right, though," Yellow-Eyes continued, "Sammy is stronger than he knows, but we're going to have to help him with that,"

_How in the hell…?!_ Dean looked at the window sill and door's threshold for the salt lines, but found them smeared and broken. _Shit! Be careful, Sammy!_

Reviews are love, even if you hate me for leaving you on the edge. Sorry for the cliffy, I hate them too!

Stay tuned!


	13. Torture of the Past and

**Author's Note: ...**

**Dean: Is she alright?**

**Author: ...**

**Sam: I think she's upset about the chapter.**

**Dean: Why?**

**Sam: Dude, did you read it?**

**Dean: -.-**

**Sam: *Sighs* Well, its just sad and all, with some real perverted moments.**

**Dean: *Now suddenly intrested and reads it really quick* OH! That's not perverted, that's just sick and WRONG.**

**Sam: Yep, and that's why we're doing the warnings.**

**Dean: The story's rated for adults, I think they can handle it...*Rolls Eyes***

**Sam: Just in case though:**

**WARNING: ABUSE AND TORTURE, and as this always comes in these instances, ANGST.**

**Dean: That doesn't even begin to cover how fucked up- **

**Sam: Just let them find out for themselves, we only get paid so much.**

**Dean: We're getting paid for this?**

**Sam: ... *runs off with money***

**Dean: HEY! Bitch! Give me some or I'll beat your ass!**

**Author: As if he ever could for real. *Shakes head* Sorry for this chapter people, but it needed to happen. Hope you don't hate me too much, and as a bonus...**

**New characters are afoot in the near future! Read and Review and enjoy.**

**Chapter 12: Torture of the Past and…**

Sam found a little mom-and-pop Italian restaurant that they takeout orders about 2 miles from the motel. The place smelled incredible, and Sam felt his mouth water as they handed him the bags of pasta and lasagna with garlic bread. He said them carefully on the passenger seat and started the car.

He thought for a minute about using the fake bullet hole stickers that he had bought in a book store that sold gag gifts on the Impala, but decided that the timing would be better after they had killed the YED. That didn't stop him from imagining the look on Dean's face when he did do it though, and he chuckled at the mental picture. He would need a camera for that one, hands down.

The Impala pulled into the miniscule parking lot in front of the motel and sputtered when he turned the key off in the ignition. He picked up the food and locked the car before heading to the door with the room keys in hand. He opened the door to John and Dean's wide eyes, and she was immediately tense, sending the two intruders behind them into the wall.

But one had been waiting behind the door, and the demons stuck genuine Sam's neck, pushing the plunger down. Sam barely had time to flinch before all his muscles gave out. He was still conscious, however, but his mind couldn't seem to focus on any one thing, and the lights were too bright.

The demon with the syringe cost him before he could fall to the floor. The other two he had thrown across the room stood on shaky feet and smiled at his failed attempt to thwart them. A harsh laugh filled the air.

"Well done, Sammy," The yellow-eyed demon stood before Sam. "You're coming into your powers quite nicely, if I do say so myself. But we can't have you using them now, not when we need to talk."

Sam was shaking his head, his pupils dilating and un-dilating in attempt to focus. "Nothing to say to you…" His gaze fell upon the legendary gun that rested on the coffee table, and he tried to retrieve it with his powers, but the metal only clunked and rattled against the wood without going too far in reaction.

"Wh-what did you do?" Sam asked.

"Oh, just a narcotic and muscle relaxer cocktail, a nice little drug mix that won't allow you to use your abilities for a while." YED waved the comment away, because it was obviously the last thought on his demented agenda, really. "It shouldn't be too unfamiliar a feeling for you Sammy. You've been helpless to prevent so much in your life, haven't you?"

Sam's eyes flashed with guilt and sadness.

"Don't listen to that bastard Sam! You're not helpless!" Dean said, finding that the demon who restrained them had lifted the psychic clamp over his mouth. He was backhanded across the face for his interruption.

"Couldn't save poor Jessica and Ben, couldn't do a thing to help innocent little Darcy…" YED continued, seeing that Sam had barely looked at his brother when Dean tried to get through to him. The YED could feel all that guilt that was hardly beneath the surface of Sam's psyche, and he was going to use it full force against Sam's fragile mind.

"Couldn't stop that demon when you were fifteen either, could you Sammy?" YED whispered loudly in Sam's ear, so that everyone could still hear him.

"What is he talking about Sam?" John asked pointedly, ignoring the snickers of the demons around them.

"You don't know?" YED's eyes flashed with malice and hilarity, "Of course he wouldn't want you to know. Sam was alone with that demon for two hours before he came crawling home to you…what do you think happened?"

"Sam…" Dean looked Sam in the face, not sure about the emotions passing through the younger's eyes. Fear…anger…disgust? At who? Surely not…

"Stop it…" Sam nearly sobbed. "Get away from me…"

XXX In Sam's Mind XXX

"_You," the demon licked the spot it had nipped, "I'm going to fuck,"_

_Sam's eyes widened. The demon grinned a lecherous smile, ripping off Sam's shirt in one harsh tug, pinning Sam's arms when the teenager tried to struggle away again. Holding Sam's wrists with one hand while the other worked off Sam's pants and boxers roughly, the black eyes reveling in the sight of the pristine, porcelain pale skin._

_The demon's hand slid unhurriedly over his chest and down to cup his groin, completely shameless and direct. Sam gagged on the demon's tongue and even with the hand's unrelenting ministrations to his cock, it would only get half-hard with how freaked out and disgusted Sam was. Then, his wrists were released, but he still couldn't move them. _

_Even without touching Sam, the demon had him totally at his mercy. Sam's mind reeled at the new development, and made a strangled half-whimper when the demon bit down hard on his inner thigh. The black-eyed defiler continued to abuse and bruise Sam's skin all over his chest and the sensitive places on his pelvis and thighs for what seemed like hours as Sam held back his protests and cries of pain._

_Then, without warning, Sam was turned on his stomach. His hands were still fixed in place above his head, and his neck strained when he tried to look back to see what the demon would do next. _

_Teeth attacked his back and the demon bit down so hard on Sam's right side that it tore through the skin and almost ripped a piece of flesh from him. Sam shouted out abruptly when the teeth sunk in that far but stopped instantly when the demon's jaws let up. It was a scar that he would have for the rest of his life…_

"_Ooo…so you're a screamer," the demon's eyes sparked in devious intent, and he grabbed Sam's hips, lifting them to be level with his own as he knelt behind Sam._

_Sam had never felt so hideously exposed in his life, not even living in such close quarters with his brother. Dean…how long had he been crying out to his older sibling, begging, pleading for him to come save him?_

_Every thought, every hope, every prayer left Sam's mind as the demon thrust with animalistic force into his ass. And the demon's lust rose infinitely with the horrified, agonized scream that left Sam's lips. _

_The demon would pause and wait for Sam to stop screaming each push, each tearing thrust before driving in harder and deeper again and again…_

_Sam's voice was rough and breaking, almost gone but continuously crying out by the end of the demon's stamina, because he didn't recess in between thrusts anymore until he spilled his cum into Sam. Hazel eyes were dry from all the tears, his body wounded and bruised, his mind shredded, and his spirit split in pieces._

_Sam didn't even respond as he felt the invisible bonds disintegrate and the demon turn him on his back again._

"_Beautiful…" The demon smiled, caressing Sam's cheek tenderly. The touch made Sam taste bile._

"_My bitch…pretty little whore. So much more appealing this way, like a doll made for all my delicious fantasies…too bad I can't keep you," The demon slid from the bed, leaving the room and Sam all alone…_

_So alone, and so sickened with himself…so helpless…_

_So broken and lifeless. _

XXX Out of the Memory XXX

"Such fond memories, Sammy," The YED smirked at the tears that streamed down Sam's blank face.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Dean growled out, bracing against the restrains holding him.

"It doesn't matter, Sammy's just remembering how weak he really was…still is," The YED shook his head, as if dismayed for the first time at Sam's condition. "So powerless, couldn't save Jessica, or Ben, or Darcy… And now, you can't even save your own father,"

Sam snapped his vision onto the YED, who moved like lightening and now had a gun in hand, inches from John's forehead. He fired.

"NOOO!" Sam and Dean cried out in a single futile voice. Their father's head was blown open, spraying blood and grey matter onto the couch cushions and the wall behind it.

Dean's eyes were fixed on the horrific sight slumped directly beside him, and didn't even flinch as the weapon that had just massacred his father pressed its nozzle to his temple.

"You'll lose Dean too, the only one who really cares for you Sammy, if you don't do something soon," The YED said loudly, and Sam's eyes were torn from John's body to Dean and the YED.

"No…I'll do anything…what do you want from me?!" Sam yelled out.

"That's better," YED said, grinning happily. "You're not strong now, Sammy boy, but if you agree to come with me, I'll make you so powerful, that you can always protect those you love…protect Dean…" The YED pushed Dean's head against the couch using the gun.

"Alright! I'll do it! But you have to promise to leave him alone! _Unharmed_, and alive!" Sam shouted.

"Hmm…I believe you," YED took the gun away from Dean's head, a round red rim indented into the skin on his forehead. YED tossed the gun to another demon. "I'll leave big brother alone, and alive since I've got what I wanted. You," The YED turned to face Sam, "And you're coming with me to hell,"

The other demons whooped and cheered in victory, and black smoke began to pour into the room, surrounding Sam. Sam stared with empty, uncaring eyes as the demonic cloud consumed him into Dean's witless and traumatized green orbs. Both were crying wet tears, of blood, of pain, and of dazed disbelief as Sam was taken from Dean for the second time in their lives.

* * *

Author: Don't hate me...*runs and hides and writes next chapter as fast as possible*


	14. Hell, Inside and Out

**Chapter Thirteen: Hell, Inside and Out  
**

"Our purpose here is through," one of the demons said.

"What about the last Winchester?" another demon asked.

"We keep our promises, leave him to rot," the demon answered, "There's nothing he can do,"

_There's nothing he can do…Nothing you can do…_

And the demons left Dean alone. Alone, next to the warm corpse of this father, bleeding steadily with eyes wide open. Dean didn't breathe as his eyes trailed over to where Sam had been, where only the faintest stain of his tears were left.

_Helpless…nothing you can do…_

No. Dean could do something…with that gun on the table in front of him. But he swallowed and told himself again, NO. His father…his dad needed to be burned.

And he was _not_ helpless. But he needed help.

Dean stood up and his legs held. He did not look at the mess, the death omen that was becoming so cold on the couch. He walked out of the room, shuddering violently when he passed the spot Sammy had been –

Sammy.

Sam was in hell. The bastard had taken him; taken dad.

Dean's mind went blank, not willing or prepared to feel the devastation yet.

Help…call for help…

And then, he was outside the room, calling Bobby on his cell.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

John Winchester's body burned just like anyone else's. He had died when a bullet cracked his skull open, just like anyone else.

But Dean Winchester did not cry at anyone else's funeral. Not even his mother's.

Bobby Singer did not pray over anyone else's body, either.

And there were no dedications, no teary speeches, and no drunken depressed relatives. No tombstone or urn to mark his ashes that they buried. Nothing but a rickety cross to preside over his grave.

Such is the end of a hunter, even one so renown as John Winchester.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Dean…" Bobby said slowly. Dean looked over at the mechanic, green eyes devoid of spirit or anything recognizable.

Bobby had nothing to say to the man who was practically his nephew about loss and death. He had been in the same position when his wife died, but for Dean to lose Sam and his father in the same night…

"I'm going after him," were the first words Dean had actually said to Bobby's face since the phone call.

"Dean, I'm upset too, but you're asking for the impossible-"

"I'm not asking, I'm doing it and making sure you know," Dean kept his intense gaze, and was completely serious with his words.

"How Dean?" Bobby set his jaw.

"Find a witch, a demon; make a deal if I have to. I don't care, they're not keeping Sam down where he doesn't deserve to be," Dean told him walking to the door.

"Dean, don't do-" Bobby cut himself off when a flash of light so intense it left them both seeing spots and momentarily blind.

Dean was blinking furiously, pulling the cold from his waistband and pointing at where the flash had emanated. There, standing beside an overstuffed bookcase, was a brown haired blue-eyed man.

"Who the hell are you?" Dean asked as Bobby aimed his own gun at the man.

The man walked toward them, unconcerned by the firearms.

"Are you truly willing to do whatever it may take to pull Samuel Winchester from hell?" The man's first words had Dean lowering his weapon slightly, but ever at the ready.

"I just said as much, chuckles, but you didn't answer me," Dean growled.

"My name is Castiel, and I am an angel of the Lord," Castiel announced.

Dean looked flustered, "yeah and I'm Madonna. What kind of screwy pranks are the demons playing at now?"

"I am not aware of any prank or joke that the demons are planning. I'm an angel sent to guide you on your quest to save your brother,"

"And why should he believe you?" Bobby spoke up.

"What do you mean?" Castiel stared blankly at Bobby.

"Do you have any fun parlor tricks to prove you are who you say are? You know us hunters are not the most trusting of people, especially of the supernatural." Dean explained, annoyed by the lack of emotive response from Castiel.

Castiel blinked at Dean, and then something weird happened. The wall behind Castiel was shrouded in wing shaped shadows that spread and moved slowly.

"Do you need more proof, or can you trust me now?" He asked.

"Trust is something you are in, but I do believe that you are something I've never seen before. I'll follow you if you can help me find Sammy." He put the gun away and Bobby set his on desk in front of them.

Castiel inclined his head, "I will do whatever I can to assist you."

"Fantastic. Tell me where I need to go to get myself sent to hell so I can find Sam and haul his emo ass back here."

"Unfortunately, it will be more difficult than that. I will introduce you to someone who can tell you what you need to do to prepare to make the journey."

"Is this friend of yours and...uh... Angel like you?" Bobby raised eyebrow.

"No, he is human. He and his family have helped us before." Castiel monotonously answered.

"A human expert on hell... don't know if I should feel reassured or question why this guy knows more about this subject than you." Dean sighed. "Well, I guess I'm driving, unless you think flying would be the better choice." He tossed the sarcastic comment Castiel's way.

"Flying would be problematic. Driving is satisfactory in this situation." Castiel said in the same seriousness that he discussed hell with.

Dean and Bobby shared a rueful glance before Dean shrugged and began walking to the car. "Call me if you find anything," Dean called back.

"Will do," Bobby answered distractedly. Dean knew the man would have researched every source and text there was about angels and hell next time he saw a scholarly hunter.

If Dean fucked up whatever chance he had and ended up stuck in hell, and he knew he would miss Bobby.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sam didn't want to open his eyes. The screams and pleas for mercy were overwhelming his other senses and his movements were strained. There was metal around his wrists and ankles that was so cold it ached and burned against skin and even to the bone.

He had to though, and he saw the true face of Azazel, as the demon who had fucked with his life named himself. He saw the true face of all the demons, some that he could remember sending to hell himself, and they were as torturous to look at as the pain he faced. Day after day, more and more ripping and stabbing and twisting, and there was no darkness in hell that people may have dreaded there being, and no light. A constant shade of perfect sight, nothing hidden, every horrendous act depicted shamelessly and observed as if under a spotlight.

Azazel had said something about the pain being important, that it would…well, do _something_ other than fuck him up, but nothing registered in Sam's mind anymore but the pain. Memories were disappearing, thoughts a long stream of unfocused agony. Sam couldn't bring himself to care anymore, just scream and try not to beg because that always made them laugh, made Alistair and Azazel and Meg and any other demon near cackle with unreserved glee.

_It won't be long now…_ Azazel kept repeating. _Almost enough, Sammy…not too long…_

Sammy…was that his name? _Not Sammy…_ he heard himself say, when his mouth was undamaged and lips uncut. Azazel would just chuckle and continue to mutilate, slice, peel…

And then it didn't seem like he could see any more... hear anymore, only feel and live in the pain. He stopped wondering how he was still alive after the way that they all tore him apart, stopped wondering about how long it had been since…

Stopped wondering if there had ever been anything else…because nothing was left in his mind, in his being except pain and the strange non-passage of time.

_Sammy…_ there would be an echo of a whisper in his unconscious, a voice he knew but didn't understand because he never slept. But it was important, he knew it, and it was his. Nothing they did seemed to take it away, either.

_Sammy…I missed you…_

He screamed, and the voice was gone.


	15. Human Expertise

**Author's Note: Hey! Sorry for not updating like I was...I'll try to get back on track. **

**This chapter is in honor of the new episode _Sam, Interuppted _that's coming on tonight.**

Hope you guys like this and the rest of Season Five!

**Reviews are love.**

**Chapter Fourteen: Human Expert on Hell: The Plunge**

Castiel gave directions, and Dean drove. He only made two pit stops on the way to Basketside Street in Oregon. He made the journey in less than twenty four hours on harsh coffee and energy drinks. The house that he finally pulled up to under Castiel's instructions was a wide two story home that had obviously seen better days but looked quite charming none the less. Not that Dean was one to notice in his state of distress and dogged tired as he was.

Castiel knocked on the heavy wooden door and they waited (impatiently) and a mussed brown haired head popped out. The brown eyes fell on Castiel and sparked in amusement.

"An angel actually knocked on my door. Heh, that's a first," The man opened the door the rest of the way, revealing him to be dressed in grey sweat pants and loose navy t-shirt.

"It was necessary at this point. We need your help," Castiel said.

"Of course. If guys visited me without needing something from me, I would die of shock," the man rolled his eyes. "What is it this time, a stolen halo?"

"No, we need you to help get Dean into hell in order to save his brother, Sam," Castiel looked to Dean before turning to the man again.

"I take it that you want him alive and well when he comes out again?" the man shook his head, "Getting into hell is easy, its getting out again that's a bitch," he sighed, and gazed lazily at Dean.

"You sure you want your brother back? I mean he was dumb enough to get himself sent there-"

Dean had had enough of the idiot's teasing and Castiel's inhuman indifference to it. He fisted the man's ratty shirt and shoved him against the nearest wall inside the house.

"I don't think you get it you son of a bitch, so I'm giving you a warning - the only one you're getting. You get me into hell right the fuck _now_, and stop with the lame ass jokes or I'll send you there myself after beating you black and blue. Understand? Every minute I waste with you is another that Sam is fucked with by demons. He's never done anything to deserve that, _never_." Dean slammed the man into the wall again with that last word. So help him - if the dumb ass tried another sarcastic comment, Dean was going to use up all that pent up rage.

"Alright, I get it." The man held up his hands in surrender, but in any way but mocking, "I'm sorry Dean, I know how serious this is, probably more than most people. I shouldn't be joking around, but it's all just surface shit. It's how I deal with things. I'll stop with the bravado, I promise."

Dean nearly growled, almost wishing it wasn't that easy to threaten the guy. He let the other go reluctantly.

"My name's Chuck, by the way." Chuck said as he fixed his shirt. "I'm glad that Cas brought you to me. I'll go start getting everything ready. You need to go rest."

"I don't need to sit around and do nothing. Give me something to help with." Dean pressed.

"No, see, I need you to rest or you're not going to be able to help with jack shit. You look like hell and I can't do anything if you collapse on me." Chuck left no room for debate, "Go upstairs, there's a guest room on the right."

Dean glared as he moved to do what Chuck said to, liking the guy less and less as time went on. He pulled off his jacket and boots before falling onto the bed, trying to ignore the way Castiel just sat in the arm chair across the room and stared at him. He was asleep within moments, however uncomfortable or high strung he had been.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dean woke in the same feelings of absolute exhaustion and determination that he fell asleep with only five hours ago. His mind would not allow him any longer to sleep. Neither would it accept that Sammy was not with him. Even when he dreamed, they were annoying the hell out of each other on another long road trip. Now was when he felt like he was dreaming, and that was skewing his sense of reality.

He shook his head. Sam was not gone. He was still alive; he was just kidnapped by some evil bastard like usual.

Except it wasn't like usual. Sam had never been so broken.

And Dean had never been so alone. John was dead. There was some weird freak claiming to be an angel saying that an even weirder nut job could help him get first class tickets to hell.

Dean had never felt so broken or fragile in his life. It wasn't enough that the YED had killed his mother, but now his father? AND taken his little brother Sammy?

The son of a bitch was going to pay. Slowly, painfully, utilizing only holy water and an iron knife. Then when Dean was satisfied, the gun would end him.

As soon as Sam was safe back with Dean, he and the YED had a date with a devil's trap. No questions or rain checks about it.

XXXXXXXXXX

Once Dean found the library, he was glad that Chuck had gone straight to the point instead of trying the same pleasantry routine that he had when they met. He really was looking for someone to flog at this point.

"Hey Dean, so going to hell is actually not all that hard... if you never want to come back human... or at all. But, lucky for you I have protection plans and all that good stuff. Castiel was right to bring you to me, but I have to warn you that it is going to take some time to prepare."

"How long?" Dean clenched his jaw.

"Half a day – at least. Your body must go through a few rituals in order to pass into the realm somewhat unscathed," Chuck said, arranging a few tomes on the large desk in front of him.

"Can we start now?" Dean fidgeted, looking warily over the old books.

"Yep. Strip down."

"_What?_"

"To your underwear. Or naked. Doesn't really matter, there's just some sigils and wards I need to mark on your skin." Chuck elaborated.

"Oh." Dean nodded, shrugging off his jacket and the rest of his clothes. Chuck had a bowl and wooden handled paint brush in his clutches and he walked around the desk to Dean.

Dean eyed the bowl's contents, frowning at the nearly clear liquid, syrupy and slick.

"Stay still. Don't wanna mess up and have you turned into a demon, now do we?"

In any other situation, Dean might just have punished the man for his humor.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Three hours later, Dean's skin felt stiff and itchy. Chuck attempts at conversation were grating on his last nerve. And Castiel's constant stare wasn't helping any.

"Done." Chuck stood back and surveyed the almost invisible lines on Dean's skin.

"Final-fuckin'-ly," Dean sighed, "What else do we have to do?"

"Really? I just have to give you a few guidelines and then you take the plunge. Then its all you,"

"Alright…But one thing," Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Yes?"

"There are rules in Hell?"

Chuck laughed, "For you, I'm afraid there has to be,"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"So…I just…?" Dean looked over to Chuck in the low light of the early evening.

"Jump."

"Yeah…And why do I have to do that from here?" Dean leaned away from the roof's edge.

"I have to say the verse, or it won't work,"

"Great. So, if you don't say it?"

"You end up in the hospital. Best case scenario," Chuck answered.

"Ok. Just so you know, I really hate you," Dean swallowed.

"I never got that impression. Nice to hear you say it, man. Stop being a wimp and jump off the damn roof already,"

Dean glared heatedly and with a running start, he leapt from the two story house. He held his breath as he headed feet first into the center of a spell circle with runes and symbols that made it slightly different from a devil's trap. He didn't think of where he was going; no apprehension at all, his mind and heart eerily calm and focused.

_Sammy, you're not alone. I'm coming to get you._


	16. Requeim's Journey

**Chapter Fifteen: Requiem's Journey**

Dean didn't think that the ground would ever actually swallow him whole. It was the only way that he could describe as he fell through the circle. That was fine, though. At least it was better than breaking both his legs and possibly his back.

He tumbled down onto soft ground, landing gracelessly flat on his back. There was no sky above him. A dark outline, like a high cavernous ceiling was barely visible, but no sky.

_Huh, guess demons don't call it the pit for nothing_, Dean thought as he brushed off what felt like dry silt from his pants. The second thing he noticed was that it was harder to breathe, like his lungs were filtering through heavy cigarette smoke or dusty air. He checked his weapons: the 'special' gun in his thigh holster, a silver blessed knife that would kill a demon if aimed right (according to Chuck) and holy water in a large flask at his hip.

Dean peered around him, his sight finally adjusting to the strange surroundings. At first, it seemed like he was alone, but a closer look at the stone wall nearest him proved otherwise.

The black stone was made and even by the protruding limbs (some torn, some mangled) and heads that writhed without sound. A pair of brown eyes stared at him, through him, and the pain and pleading he saw there made it even harder to breathe. The nameless forms were silent, and the noise to his left finally tore his eyes from them.

Dean tried to focus. Check it told him to ignore everything but his task. To move quickly and inconspicuously, and make sure no one saw him unless it was absolutely unavoidable. He moved forward, away from the walls as he could. His amulet, the only thing on his chest, warmed slightly, and he knew he was heading the right way. Chuck had spelled the pendant to track Sam, his only beacon in the uncertainty of anything else he might find or witness.

_Focus on the pendant. Do not engage anyone or anything. Keep out of sight. Do not stop, no matter what you see, or hear._

Dean let the words swirl in his mind as he traveled. He couldn't help but stare wide-eyed at the demons mutilated faces and their actions from afar. It was then that the situation finally fell into place in the mind.

He was in Hell. Demons were calling all over the place. He was protected by hocking face paint with one gun and a knife. If he screwed up or was taken, then Sam...

_Sammy._

The nearly smacked himself. He could not lose control. How could he panic when Sam was the one in pain, trapped, and probably hopeless? Dean had an image of Sam's face from the last time he saw Sam flashed before his eyes. The tight drawn brows in slack-jawed gaze at their fallen father, the wet eyes that guilt Slough looked into Dean's and the total devastation at the thought of losing Dean as well...

Sam had said yes to keep Dean safe. He would have said yes to save their father as well, if he had been given the chance. But Sam was in Hell now because Dean had failed to kill the demons, to protect his family, and Sam was suffering for it.

He felt tears on his cheeks and slammed his eyes shut to stop them, wiping his face furiously.

_Follow the amulet, wallow in self guilt after you save Sam,_ Dean kept going, pushing all thought and worry to the furthest reaches of his conscious mind.

XXXXXXXXXX

Dean hadn't had an idea of what hell would be like before he was actually there. He walked for endless miles, seeing pain, torture, hopelessness, utter loneliness, and worst of all, witnessing the amusement and hilarity the demons held as they watched and commented jovially on the misery and horror of the souls trapped under their relentless, dark, and disgusting vigil and harassment.

There were also long hours (or days and nights) where Dean was alone, wandering through nothingness. When Chuck had told him that he would not need to sleep or eat in Hell, he had thought it somewhat of a blessing. This way he could continue to move forward to find Sammy, but now...

The days and nights were the same, time passing in strange fits that Dean could neither track nor care to after walking for so long. He kept out of sight for the most part and no one seemed to notice or bother with him, even after looking into so many of the agonized eyes of the demon's prey. Numbing himself to their pain and his own, he kept going.

He felt the heat and pull of the pendent increase steadily as he moved, constantly drawing him to his brother. He did not know what to do aside from his mission, because steeling himself to the sights and sounds was not going to work forever; he knew it in his heart. Dean was cracking, slowly falling to tiny grains and feeling as if he was going to become apart of the uneven black sand beneath his feet.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Traveling for what seemed like years disheartened Dean, but his focus was not connected to his stubbornness, and that will outlast his hope of long after it died pitifully in his chest. Moving onward, one hand on his gun at the rise of any sound or movement, the other used balance whenever he needed it.

All at once, as he carefully ambled down a slope, the amulet began to burn into his skin, and he was faced with the sight of his little brother, surrounded by three demons. Finally, after so long, he saw his brother... and he was shocked still for so many moments. He had known that Sam was not going to be protected and taken care of in the YED's possession, tortured -- Mark like so many of the other salty again?

Dean snapped. He drew the gun and shot the two nearest him before they could even blink, much less figure out who was firing on them. The third demon and saw Dean and ran off, Dean's third bullet almost grazing the grotesque ear. He looked around the area listening to see if there were any others near. Then he ran up to Sam.

"Sammy," Dean ran up to him, trying to do get Sam to acknowledge him, "I'm here, Sammy, it's been."

Sam's head lolled forward and to the side, a groan torn from his throat as he tried to overcome his disorientated state. Someone was actually trying to talk to him? It didn't sound like his hazel either...

Dean gritted his teeth to contain his anger at the way Sam was strung up and we couldn't. He was careful as he possibly could be as he is agile fingers worked to free Sam, whose wrists were held above his head by hooks through his flesh. He got the medal free and Sam's body slumped almost like it is.

"I got you," he mumbled as he gently, firmly held his little brother.

"Dean?" Sam said, turning into his brother's neck. It was a familiar, comforting position, and his arms moved slowly to embrace Dean back. He knew it was Dean. The scent, the warmth, the voice, all of it bringing him back from the place where his mind had escaped to, to escape the torture.

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean rubbed his back to check for further injury as well as to soothe. "I'm here,"

"Why? How?" Sam was still easily grasping at consciousness with his feeble hands.

"Doesn't matter," Dean struggled to get Sam on his feet, leaning them against the rock wall. He was absolutely thankful that his back that this Blackstone wasn't moving. Dean had to let them go the next instant, though, because the demon was coming at them. Dean shot it nearly point-blank in the chest, and was caught off guard when another demon attacked from behind. A sharp objects lost his lower back as Dean barely managed to dodge a full on staff. Close range now, he pulled the blessed knife out and sunk it deep into the demon hastily. He cursed under his breath at the sudden pain and check to see if any other demons were coming.

He quickly moved back to Sam when he was sure no one else was coming and true sense of the arm over his shoulder. He ambled as fast as they could, Dean pulling out an old, tarnished compass, its middling grades and pulsating with a soft steady glow

Time to get out.


	17. Of Mistake and Intention

**Chapter Sixteen: Of Mistake and Intention**

While half-walking, half-dragging Sam beside him, Dean noticed that Sam's wrists had healed, even the blood was nonexistent. It made him wonder how many other wounds that they had inflicted on him that had healed, only to be cut or mutilated again. He was almost ready to turn around and use every single bullet he had left to take out as many demons as he could, using the blessed dagger when he ran out. But he focused now on Sam, and getting both of them the hell out of... hell.

Sam was slowly regaining his strength, and now was only holding onto Dean for reassurance, for guidance. They walked for hours... for days... for months... Neither was sure of time anymore, but at least they were together. The compass lead them in winding turns and through the labyrinthine paths that had their heads spinning. Dean felt as if they would be traveling for eternity in search of the bleak chance of an exit.

The surroundings were even harder to ignore with Sam by his side, as if two people watching was a confirmation that what was going on was not a dream... a horrid, dismissible nightmare. They kept trudging on, weary of mind and heart, every once in a while sharing a miserable, soul-suffering glance.

Then, there was silence. They happened upon a place where no demon, no wandering soul, no life seemed to venture. The compass was leading them through the unnerving space. It was a vast cavern, darker and bleaker than anything else they had seen. The ground here was flat and unforgiving, their feet only scraping on the tiniest of grains that coated it sparsely. Then, it was as if the and even walls suddenly turned into a set of 10 foot high double doors.

The question was, even as the compass shown its brightest, did the dollars lead them out of Hell, or into a far worse fate than they had encountered so far? There was no one else here, it was as if the doors warded them away instead of beckoning them, promising freedom.

Then again, they were made of solid iron... and was that salt permeating the air?

Dean decided anything was better than standing in the empty place like a moron, so he pocketed the compass and pushed on the doors. Sam helped, and soon a great screeching and groaning cut through the dead silence, slowly opening under their combined strength.

More darkness was beyond the doorway, more silence. But the salty taste grew on their tongues, and they walked onward. The doors, Sam noticed as he looked back, closed soundlessly behind them.

Up ahead, there was noise. It was soft at first, like hearing with your head wrapped in a towel. The gentleness gave way to a deafening roar as they turn the corner, and the walls were dripping with moisture.

And then they were at the entrance of the seaside cave, waves crashing thunderously not 3 yards below their feet.

Oh yeah, demons would have a hell of a time here, surrounded by all the salt.

They move silently, climbing up the cliffs until they reached the edge, perching precariously as they load looked about. The Impala was sitting a few yards away, and the familiarity of the vehicle shocked Sam into being more aware of himself and to speak for the first time.

"How typical is it for you to come out of Hell with your pants on and me bare-ass naked?" He said looking down.

Dean tensed and gazed startled at Sam for a long moment, then burst out laughing; in relief, and bitterness, and weariness.

"There's a technique to these things," his voice cracked slightly. "Come on, your bag is still in the trunk,"

After getting dressed, they fell back into that routine they were so used to. Sam in the passenger seat, Dean driving, music blaring, and a long stretch of road before them. There were glances, quick checks looking between them; reassurances that it wasn't some passing daydream that they were both together again. Nothing was said; neither was ready nor really wanting to talk, just be and live again beside one another, like before.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It turned out that they had reappeared on earth again in Oregon office southern coast. Taking the scenic route for once and stopping more than necessary delayed the inevitable reunion with Chuck from a few hours. Still, they came to his house 12 hours after getting back to the Impala on the cliff.

So late that it was nearly early morning, Dean knocked on Chuck's door for the second time.

But he was taken aback when Chuck was soft-spoken and direct, leading them up to the guestroom after introducing himself to Sam. They were both exhausted, adrenaline and coffee now fading from their systems.

Sam only said a quiet thank you and let Dean handle the rest. He almost leaned on his brother to keep himself standing.

Just shut the door behind him, promising to talk to them later in the day, or whenever they woke up. Together, they worked off their shoes and fell into the queen sized bed, again silence stretched comfortably over them like the blankets they slipped beneath. Wordlessly, Dean pulled Sam in his arms at Sam moved closer to him. They slept in peace after what was surely an eternity apart.

XXXX

"What the hell were you thinking?!" Chuck yelled after she looked over Dean. Standing bare-chested in the library, Dean itched to steal his shirt from Chuck after he saw the scar across his lower back.

"I don't know, Chuck, maybe that I was trying to keep myself alive? I couldn't stand there and do nothing as they... they..." Dean faltered, then went back to depute sending itself, "I found Sam, they were hurting him, and I did what I always do: I killed the supernatural bastards!"

"Well, that's all well and fun when you're _not in hell_, Dean, but because you acted on impulse, you've let the demon break towards the protected you from the poisonous environment." Chuck threw the shirt at him, fuming.

"So what!" Dean growled, "I got Sam; we're out of there, _alive_, thank you very much, and we don't need to be here anymore. See you next time we get ourselves sent to the inferno," Dean tugged on the shirt and made to leave the library. Sam just stood back and watched the scene unfold quietly.

"Dean, do you know how demons become demons?" Chuck asked, suddenly deathly flat-toned.

"Demons are born in hell, duh," Dean looked at Chuck like he was an idiot.

"No! They are _made_ in hell, Dean." Traffics emphasized. "Souls are taken there and tortured until they lose their humanity."

Dean's eyes widened, but he kept his body still.

"I painted protected symbols on your body so that the environment could touch you, because you went down there _physically_, not spiritually. The physical form is like 50 times more vulnerable, more corruptible than the soul. When the demon broke the seal, you are infected with the pollution, the atmosphere of hell,"

"Then is Sam okay?" He looked warily at his little brother.

"Sam is fine! Azazel obviously protected him! Worry about yourself for one second, Dean!" Chuck raged, looking as if he were about to pull out of his hair.

"What are you saying?" Dean furrowed his eyebrows. "Sam's fine, I feel fine-"

"That's irrelevant!" Chuck countered, "It doesn't matter what you goddamn 'feel' like Dean; you're changed."

"I think anyone who walks through hell would be a little affected." Dean sarcastically remarked, ignoring Chuck's exasperated groan, "but you keep talking about 'infections' and physical and spiritual bullshit. You're not making any sense!"

"Fine, I was trying to be gentle and shit, but you're thick skull obviously can't handle that." Chuck faced him, looked Dean directly in the eyes.

"Your part demon now, Dean,"


	18. ChChChanges

**Chapter Seventeen: Ch-Ch-Changes**

Dean didn't really know what to make of the situation. He had Sam, they were alive, out of hell, and gunning to kill the supernatural baddies just like always... but what was this about him being part demon? He didn't feel mean and nasty, and he never wanted to torture others like he had seen the demons do... (except Azazel, but the bastard was already dead, according to Sam.)

Then again, Chuck said it didn't really matter what he felt, it was apart of his physiology now. He had been tainted, not soulfully, but physically, and that made all the difference. Like some sort of bad medication commercial, Chuck had rambled on about how he might have to deal with bouts of unnatural strength, random moments of weakness as the changes to his body adapted to being on earth, and he might be a little more 'psychically inclined'. Not as much as Sam, whose powers were probably even more potent after their little escapade to hell, but still something he would have to watch for.

Yeah... bad, horrible infomercial that might actually have been funny if it wasn't his life. And, apparently, Sam was still wholly human, a natural psychic who was just boosted by the trip to hell. Dean was the only one really changed (physically) by the experience.

Joy.

The second thing that clouded his thoughts was Sam, as always, because he was being so damn quiet. Really, a blabber mouth like his behemoth of a brother was not capable of such a thing. Not when he was little and not now.

He tried not to concentrate on that aspect though, because he's a pessimist enough as it is. Sam and he were still alive, relatively unscathed, and back on the road. Dean wasn't sure if they should start hunting straight away either, so he decided (without really consulting Sam about it) to stop again at Missouri's. She would be the one to really explain all of this mess in a professional and precise manner that Chuck would have to live a thousand years to obtain himself. The man was completely devoid of most people skills. Except for being a dick, but Dean really didn't have much to say in that department for himself...

So they pulled up to Missouri's in Kansas four days later. Dean stopped after about every two hours of driving and did not drive for more than eight hours a day. He tried to tell himself it was for Sam, to ease him back into their old routine, but he needed the slower pace as much as his brother. Not that anyone could ever get him to admit that...

He also had forgone getting a room with more than one bed. Sam didn't say anything. Dean didn't make a big deal about it. They slept in the same bed, never out of each other's touch. When they woke up entwined and warm, they felt that much more human each day. After coffee, they were back to their brotherly ways, and on the second day, Sam started speaking softly again. Not a whole lot, but it was more progress than Dean could ever hope for. A silent road trip is a bad one, whether it's because they are mad at each other or so severely damaged that they are lost in their own thoughts.

Missouri didn't greet them at the front door, and they waited after they knocked. Dean was about to make a crack about her psychic awareness when she popped her head through the screen door.

"Just because I don't come a callin' when your engine sounds in my driveway don't mean I can't hear your thoughts, Dean," She had her trusty spatula in hand.

Dean actually blushed for the first time in a very long time. He apologized profusely, and kicked himself mentally for having even thought about teasing the psychic so close to her home. He knew that he was going to give himself a headache by watching what he thought about carefully while in her presence, but he really should know better.

Missouri sighed. She looked them both over once, slowly, and shook her head. "I don't know how you two manage to get yourselves into these messes, but I'll always be here to help you when you need it. Don't worry if you think that you're intruding, this can be your home when you don't have any place else to go. I don't care what has happened."

She declared seriously, gazing in their eyes. When they uttered a tiny, "Yes'm," she led them inside.

It was almost funny that Chuck, who didn't know them in the least, had said practically the same promise before they had high-tailed it out of Idaho. Just what was it about them that made everyone want to take them in, like abandoned puppies?

So what if _Sam_ pulled off the wounded animal look well, _Dean_ sure as hell didn't want anyone's pity, even if they were sincere about their offers. His insecurities over the whole situation pushed those thoughts and feelings away, thankfully.

On the couch again, Sam and Dean sat opposite of Missouri who was perched on an armchair. The comfort level was almost nonexistent; Dean tortured by the unknown of his condition, Sam struggling to keep in the present, and Missouri sorting through all of their distressing conflicts and worries.

She sighed, wondering for a few moments in the silence how to go about dealing with the brothers, before she spoke.

"I know Chuck did not tell you much about what has happened, either of you, but you can't blame him. He really doesn't understand more than what his books and rituals can show him."

"Then, he wasn't right when he said I was part demon?" Dean ventured, daring to... not hope to much...

"Honey, I'm sorry to tell you this, but you have changed. Maybe not into a full demon, but enough that your mind has been affected. We won't know how much until it shows up, unfortunately. You're just going to have to be more careful, Dean."

Dean, overwhelmed, stood and paced awkwardly. He ran his hands over his head and glanced abruptly between Missouri and Sam.

"What about Sam?" Dean didn't know if Sam was even really 'there' at the moment. It was in the half interested, half unsure gaze that had settled into Sam's hazel eyes.

"Sam will be... okay. He's just trying to work out everything that's going on. His mind has... expanded." Missouri said, thinking carefully over her word choice. "He'll be able to do more than he was practicing before, perhaps more than I will be able to teach him about. Perhaps more than anyone can,"

Dean nodded, "and... Chuck said that I might... have... 'abilities' too?" That was hard to get out. All they needed were more psychic problems in their diminishing family.

"Yes I think he was right," Missouri's browse came inward; "I can sense that you have a bigger presence than before... and I almost didn't recognize your mind when you first came to the door."

"That's reassuring," Dean did not want to hear about the kind of freak that hell had turned them into. He had sat back down heavily on the couch in annoyance and disbelief.

Sam's touch startled him. Dean looked down at his knee, where Sam tightened his fingers slightly.

"_Don't worry about it_," Sam said. But, Dean was looking at his face… and Sam's mouth was closed…

"Sam?" Dean stared.

"_Yes_?" Sam stared back.

"Uh…Missouri?" Dean said, at a loss.

"I think he's done with mullin' it over," Missouri smiled at her evolving protégé.

"That's great, Sam," Dean smiled strangely, not completely sure if everything ever would go back to the way it had been before their little impromptu detour to the Pit.

"_Yep. It was getting annoying,_" Sam agreed.

"Uh-huh." Dean swallowed, "Do me a favor. Speak out loud until I can get used to it?"

"_Sure, no-_"

"Sam," Dean growled in warning.

Sam laughed, "Alright, alright,"

And Dean just had to grin back, because Sam was going to be _Sam_ again, even if everything else was fucked beyond repair.


	19. Dealing with the Dreaded

**Chapter Eighteen: Dealing with the Dreaded**

Dean Winchester, number one hunter extraordinaire, was a half demon, and Sam Winchester, hunter extraordinaire number two, (hey, its Dean's thoughts, let him boast a little, he did _raise_ the emo boy-wonder) was a super charged psychic. That was the path that his thoughts had lead him down for the last few days, at Chuck's and on the road to Missouri's, and they swirled in a vortex of denial and regret so deep that he almost didn't know what Missouri was apologizing for at first.

"I'm sorry for your loss, boys," Was all she said, quietly, and did not need to elaborate.

Oh.

Well… fuck.

Sam's strangled groan-gasp was quick, and he closed his eyes against the turmoil of emotions that hit him like a brick wall. He breathed shallowly, unsure of how to deal with the invasion of new feelings that twisted his heart and gut in a piercing stab. He knew that his father was dead, had more than come to terms with the fact in the few months (only days on earth) in hell. But Dean…

His older brother had focused on the danger that Sam had been in, thrown himself into hell without pause or trepidation to save Sammy. He had ignored the natural response to losing his mentor, his hero, with such repression that the mere mention of John's death triggered a crack in Dean's barriers that he had built to protect himself unconsciously.

Sam could feel that now, as if he were inside Dean, as if he _was_ Dean.

He didn't even have to concentrate to utilize his abilities; the force of Dean's pain and the bond between them crashed into Sam's mind without warning, just like Missouri's condolences had affected Dean.

And _GOD_ did it _hurt_.

Just as unconsciously, the wave of comfort and understanding he sent back to his brother flowed past Dean's shock and brought the elder back into their conversation.

"It's hard to believe he's gone," Dean said flatly, and Missouri commented no more on the subject, having said her piece. They sat in hard silence for long minutes until Missouri wondered back into the kitchen to make them some dinner.

Sam knew by only glancing at Dean that they would be leaving after the meal.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They travelled to Tennessee where they had heard about a few murders that looked to be the work of a curse or poltergeist: almost all the members of a family had been killed in bouts of hugely improbable – if no altogether _impossible_ – occurrences and methods. Dean winced at the autopsy reports that Sam had managed to hack into and Sam looked a little green himself.

It was in a town at the tail-end of Nashville – which was good, considering the publicity it would have chalked up in the big city. The people were nice in that near sickening 'ever-so-friendly' manner, but the spiteful and judgmental words that many of the good ole folk said about the unfortunate family had Dean and Sam wondering if the whole scandalous and disgusting affair had been completely human oriented.

As it turned out, the problem was half and half: a human witch had decided to take the disreputable Darnett's fate into her own hands. They found spell bags in all of the family's homes. The last two family members, a college fresh graduate and her widowed uncle, were nearly murdered themselves in the motel rooms they rented for the duration of the semi-mass funeral. Sam and Dean had broken into their rooms after the uncle and niece had left for lunch and snatched the bags without notice.

Despite the town's aversion to the Darnett family, they were at least respectful enough to show up for the funeral and not gossip there. Sam and Dean slipped in and sat in the back of the procession, carefully eyeing the reaction that the people had when they saw Felicity and Mike, the sadly grieving (but at least still breathing) survivors of tragedy.

It wasn't until the priest and his understudy walked to the sermon podium that they noticed the reaction they had been watching for. The priest's understudy was practically steaming with suppressed rage at the sight of the remaining family members. Sam and Dean shared a look of surprise; it wasn't everyday that you saw a male witch. They had certainly never encountered one before, but the last two months seemed to be full of firsts for the brothers Winchester. First dealing with more than two demons, first time speaking to Azazel, first time going to hell…

Ain't their lives just peachy?

The service was over much faster than either of the brothers could have guessed; both were so lost in their thoughts. Once they saw the understudy leave the church out the side door, they got up and quietly made their way out the front doors, sneaking around the back until they spotted the guy again. He had pulled off the white and black robes covering his everyday casual wear and was kneeling in the grass not two feet from the church wall. He had another voodoo bag clutched in his angry fist, and that was almost enough to make Dean and Sam jump forward immediately – but then they saw what the man was leaning over.

A pewter goblet with dark liquid glinted in the evening sun, and the brothers heard the words that the understudy spoke to it.

"They weren't attacked like the others. Why? I did what you said, just like before…"

There was a pause, and he looked like he was listening to something that they couldn't hear. Dean turned to Sam and made a circling gesture with one finger next to his temple, the universal symbol for saying, "This guy's _nuts_!" Sam rolled his eyes.

"No, there was no way those imbeciles could have figured it out themselves… I swear it. No one else knows about it. I will not fail my mission again." The guy took a deep breath and stood after grabbing the goblet and pouring out the red congealing blood.

Dean moved forward with Sam on his heels. They had the guy pinned against the white church wall seconds later.

"So who were ya talking to?" Dean asked, "And skip with the innocent act, we know that you killed all the Darnett family."

"You two were the ones who stopped the last from dying?" The man growled. "You will pay dearly for your sins."

"Sins? Who's the one killing using demon magic?" Dean snarled right back. "You've got some ungodly methods for a man of the church."

"I stopped following the church when I was twenty and my master found me. He chose me," the man's dark brown eyes looked highly pleased, "He chose me out of all others,"

"…Right," Dean raised an eyebrow at Sam, not believing how gullible the man obviously was. "And what did he promise you? Treasure? Women? Power?"

"A place by his side," The man said, like it was the end-all of all rewards, "But I have to prove myself before I can truly serve him,"

"That's the reason you killed this family? Why you're still trying to get Felicity and Mike?" Sam spoke up.

"Yes! Now let me go, or there'll be hell to pay!" He growled again.

Dean just snorted. "Been there, done that. But that doesn't matter, does it? You're not even a qualified lackey for this demon yet. Why would he protect someone who _failed_ to do his bidding?"

"You're interfering with his plans! My life is not important; he will kill you for stopping me,"

"You keep telling yourself that," Dean looked like he wanted to laugh and punch the guy. "I take it that this demon didn't give you his name?"

"He did," The man's eyes narrowed at Dean's taunts. "But only his devout followers get to know it. You aren't allowed."

"Well, damn, I'm sorry I never joined that demon-worshippers club when they were handing out the pamphlets," Dean sighed, annoyed, and promptly knocked the guy unconscious.

"What do we do with him now? He's human, so we can't kill the guy," Sam looked disdainful over the fact as he stared at the maniac slumped at their feet.

"And we can't prove he killed the others," Dean shook his head. "I have an idea."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I can't believe that it was that easy," Dean laughed.

"I can't believe that it was your idea to have the guy committed as our fuckin' uncle," Sam laughed along with him, "And you have to admit that him screaming at the top of his lungs that the demon would kill all of the staff didn't help,"

"No, that was just priceless," Dean watched the road absently, so used to driving that he barely had to concentrate on what was going on in front of them. He pulled up to the motel parking lot a few turn offs later, wondering if demon-related hunts were going to be a regular occurrence for them. They were about four states over from Tennessee where the next hunt was, and subsequently where a rather discreet mental ward was. Silver Springs Hospital for the Societal Unfit was now the home for one Howard McDove, as the witch's wallet had named him.

It was nearing the end of October, both Dean and Sam noted as they saw the strings of pumpkin shaped decorations pinned above their hallways and door. Just the time of year for humans to get just as freaky as the supernatural shit they usually had to deal with. It was a wonder they ever even went to check on a hunt during that period.

They opened their motel door after purchasing a two-bed room and…

…Castiel stood before them.

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	20. Answers that Lead to Questions

**Author's Note:** Hey my loverly readers and reviewers and alerters! I know it's been a while, but I hope you're still excited and following along with the story.

Anyhow, I just wanted to say that I made a banner for this FanFic and I wanted you to see it! Follow my LiveJournal link and it'll be right there for you to see. Made one for _The Strangest Kind_ too.

Tell me what you think! Hope you like the new chappie.

R & R, babes!

**Chapter Nineteen: Answers that Lead to Questions**

"Who are you?" Then you go you. In other words: he perfectly sealed at Castiel's heart.

"Sam it's okay," Dean placed a hand over Sam's forearm, "he's a good guy."

"Wait, you mean he's Castiel?" Sam remembered Dean talking about the angel who appeared seemingly out of nowhere. He lowered his gun at Dean's nod, stepping towards the brown-haired, blue eyed man.

"Sorry about that…um…Castiel." Sam managed to look apologetic, "I'm Sam, its good to finally meet you,"

Castiel nodded at Sam's belated greeting, shaking the offered hand firmly.

"I am glad to see that the two of you were able to make it out alive. I'm sorry that you were affected as such, Dean," he said.

"Yeah, I'm real sorry too, is there anything you can do to fix it?" Dean was obviously still sore on the subject, no matter how unchanged or normal he felt.

"There is no cure or solution to separating the demonic energy in you: it has become an unalterable piece of your biology and spirit," Castiel answered factually.

"That makes me feel so much better…" Dean sighed. He didn't think it was really something to worry about: holy water didn't affect him, a devil's trap couldn't hold him, and he swallowed a spoonful of salt (yuck) without problems, but it wasn't something he wanted to be reminded of. If he didn't think about it, it wasn't something that needed to be recognized or agonized over. He didn't know how long the traits of the demonic energy would keep hidden, and he wasn't about to admit how scared he was of what would happen when they did.

"You will not be denied passage to heaven because of your change, Dean," Castiel stated, as if that was really what Dean should be concerned about.

Angels. Gotta love to hate them and their focus on the afterlife.

Obviously the angel did not know Dean very well.

"Are you here to comfort me? Cause you're doing a shitty job so far," Dean scowled.

Castiel frowned, the slightest downturn of lip, "I did not mean to offend you, Dean-"

"Just leave it Castiel," Sam smiled softly, trying to placate the man…angel-thing, "He's just mad about what happened. Was there something else you needed?" Sam spared a glace at his grumbling older brother who had sat down heavily on one of the double beds.

"Yes," Castiel answered, "This town is in grave danger. There is a witch here who plans to summon a demon on All Hollow's Eve,"

"How original," Dean raised an eyebrow, "We've dealt with demons before, why warn us about this one?"

"Because he is stronger and older than any you have seen before. This is his…holiday, I guess you could say."

"You mean this is the demon that everyone is trying to hide from by dressing up, originally?" Sam asked.

"Yes," Castiel looked between them, "This would be the time to test your abilities, Sam,"

"What? You mean my psychic powers? I'm not strong enough to manipulate demon energy yet," Sam protested.

"You have the power to, now, as you did not before Azazel took you below," Castiel assured.

"Whoa, whoa, wait. How did _that _happen? Doesn't Hell _weaken _people?" Dean interrupted.

"The energy in Hell would warp and corrupt, normally, but Azazel shielded Sam from the environment. The pain he went through, the torture-" Sam flinched and Dean looked ready to pummel the angel "- expanded his mind, and therefore his powers."

"…did Azazel do that on purpose? Why make me stronger?" Sam asked in a small voice. He figured Azazel was just an ass who loved fucking with people – not a reinforcer to make a mere human stronger.

"Why was he so focused on you in the first place? We have a few theories; however we do not know his true intentions. We think that he did not act alone…"

"He didn't."

Dean and Castiel turned to Sam, who was frowning and tensing his forearms and fists visibly. He was trying not to shake in the face of the memories of hell.

"What?" Dean asked, prompting Sam to focus on the present.

"The one you didn't…didn't kill when you saved me. He got away." Sam said, but Dean looked confused.

"But he came back – he was the one who slashed my back-"

"No, that wasn't him. That last one you killed was Lilith," Sam said, certain.

"Wha- How could you tell?" Dean wondered aloud, thinking back the gruesome and mutilated forms that looked asexual and almost completely similar.

"I was down there for a while. You start to notice…things, differences about them pretty quick," Sam bit out, "The demon who got away was Alistair,"

Castiel nodded, "We will be looking for him. I'll tell you if he should escape from Hell."

"Awesome." Dean sneered, "More demon fuckers after my lil' bro. What is it about Sam that has them so obsessed?"

"It obviously has something to do with his abilities," Castiel started.

"That was a rhetorical question, Cas, but thanks anyway," Dean ran his hands over his head.

"You're welcome," Sam and Dean shared a look of brooding amusement at Castiel's naïveté to human's social intricacies.

"So, what about this Halloween demon?" Dean redirected the conversation back to their current situation.

"He is Sahel, and he will kill many before the week is through if he is not stopped. It would be best to stop the ceremony through which he is summoned, but you may not have enough time…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Cas was right; they didn't make it into the university basement in time to stop the possessed anthropology college student. She dripped her blood into a chalice that was faintly reminiscent of the one Howard had used, and the spell circle split and yellowed, sickly-glowing cracks.

Queue bad asshole rising from the depths of hell.

The girl put up enough of a fight that they both were knocked off their feet by the time Sahel took form (apparently and unluckily, higher level demons did not need a vessel) before them.

"My great lord," the girl happily chirped, ignoring Sam and Dean completely. "Now that the summoning has worked, what do you wish to do? What do you wish of me?"

The humanoid demon's lips split into a small, cruel smile as he gazed at the possessed woman.

"Come," he beckoned her in a deep voice and she walked slowly, calculatingly forward. His hands rested on her shoulders and he stared into her face as she lowered her eyes.

"You have done well," he complimented, his voice even. She looked as if she were about to speak, but Sahel's hands moved too quickly and snapped her neck like a fragile weed, and the force behind the twist made her head face backward.

As if Sam and Dean weren't disgusted enough…

Sam shook his head, trying to focus on what to do next. The demon had yet to notice them, and they were still winded. He felt the dirty floor beneath his fingers and looked at his hands before getting Dean's attention as quietly as possible.

As soon as he turned his head, Sam rubbed the soot over Dean's cheeks and forehead before coating himself. Dean's look of confusion was priceless, but Sam warned him to be still.

Sahel surveyed the basement unhurriedly, eyes landing on the exit and he strode lazily toward it. There was nothing about this new demon creature that suggested he was worried about any threat, as if he knew that there was no one who could stop him. Sahel was obviously a dangerous monster, possibly more than even the new and 'improved' Winchester boys could handle.

Well, you never know until you try, right?

Sahel passed over them as if they were nothing but estranged objects, and Dean was a little tempted to trip him. Not that it would help their situation any, but it would make _Dean_ certainly feel better.

The door slammed shut moments later, and Sam got to his feet and pulled Dean up as well.

"You okay?" Sam looked him over.

"Got a bruised rib or two, nothing else really," Dean said, "You?"

"Same." Sam frowned as he felt over the damage on his side gingerly, "Are we going to the nearest cemetery?"

"Cas said that that would be the first place he would run off to," Dean scratched his forehead, "Why'd you rub that shit all over us?"

"If we cover our faces like a mask or dress in costume like the lore suggests, Sahel would not be able to see us," Sam shrugged. "Seemed like a good idea,"

Dean huffed out a laugh, "Well, it worked. I guess we're just lucky bastards, huh?"

"Yeah… so lucky we have to find a way to stop an eons-old demon from taking over the country," Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Just another day's work for us," Dean grinned widely and started for the door.

Sam followed, rolling his eyes, "Sure Dean, just another day at the office,"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


	21. Beginning to Bust

**Chapter Twenty: Beginning to Bust**

Sam and Dean wearily entered their motel room.

It had been a long night leading to the early morning. The clock on their shared nightstand read 3:19 am in green lettering.

They had cornered Sahel in the mausoleum that stood like a foreboding century at the back of the graveyard. Iron had barely made the demon flinch, the same with salt and religious phrases in Latin. He hadn't let either of them have the time to say the complete exorcism ritual, even in succession. Sahel had obviously learned all their tricks and was smart, unlike all his devious brothers that they had faced before.

Dean's frustration and anger had built to an all new high, and he had just thrown himself at the demon, recklessly flinging his fists and deadly swoops of his legs. In the struggle, even the Colt had been tossed out of their reach.

Then Sam had been shocked into action. He saw something he thought would only be in his worst nightmares.

Dean, snarling and furious, black-eyed and going head to head with Sahel's energy with his own unpracticed _demonic_ energy. Dean hadn't even been aware that he was using the power, relying like he always had, on his instincts.

With a strange new level of concentration, Sam had thrown Sahel and Dean away from each other, pinning both to opposite walls. Sahel had looked decidedly amused for a few moments... until he couldn't break the psychic hold. Dean was just pissed.

The ages-old demon had looked Sam in the face with something akin to a mix of reluctant submission and begrudging admiration. He had smiled, knowingly.

"And so he has risen from the depths of our imagination. The legend is becoming true." Sahel didn't even struggle anymore. "Before you do away with me, tell me your name, psychic,"

Sam's brows came together. _What the hell?_

"Sam," he wasn't sure what was with the demon's sudden change in attitude.

"Samuel," Sahel said his full first name, like he had known that it had been that all along. "The leader of demons on Earth. Harbinger of the new world,"

His words were like ice in Sam's veins. He didn't need to hear anymore, and his powers had taken it from there. There was no black smoke escaping the demon's body, and Sam felt the demons energy _cease_, like it had never even existed in the first place. The limp body fell to the stone ground, useless and lifeless.

Sam fell to his knees; in-comprehensive to all the demon had told him and his mind drawing vicious, dark circles contemplating the future. Dean had dropped down beside him in a similar state of confusion and disbelief.

Neither knew how long it had been when Dean finally suggested that they head back to the motel.

Sam sat down on the bed, his hands in his hair and stared at the rugged carpeting.

When had everything got so complicated?

"Sam," Dean looked down at his brother, sitting across from him on the other bed, "Do we need to talk?"

_To the point as always_, Sam thought, caught between fear and gratefulness. "About what just happened? _Hell yes_, Dean. What were you so pissed about that you looked ready to tear that guy apart?"

"What? He was annoying me and we weren't making any headway with him. I was just trying to give you enough time to finish the damn ritual, Sammy."

"Your eyes were _black_, Dean." Sam stared at him incredulously, "Did you even notice that you were using demonic powers on him?"

"Wh... no.... you don't mean... FUCK!" Dean jumped up, breathing harshly. He started to pace. "No, no, no... Holy water doesn't work on me, iron doesn't sting, and devil's traps might as well be kid's chalk drawings... Why now?" He was muttering furiously, not wanting to accept his changes anymore than Sam wanted to accept what Sahel might have meant in his little death declarations.

"Dean, calm down," Sam sighed, focusing on his brother's issues for the moment.

"Take calm and shove it up your ass!" He snapped at Sam, "I'm a fucking demon, Sam. Doesn't that register with you? You have to kill me now! I'm a freak that you have to kill before I go insane and hurt somebody-"

"Dean, weren't you listening to Chuck, hell, even Castiel, when they told you about this? Nothing's changed! And I'm not going to kill you." Sam interrupted, surprisingly not even having to raise his voice.

"You have to Sam! Just like any other hunt, Dad would want you to, _I_ want you to-"

"Well, Dad's not here is he, Dean?" Sam shouted.

Dean gaped at him, his eyes wide. They hadn't mentioned their father much, barley saying two words about his death because it was still too close to the vest to talk about. And Sam had just thrown that in his face.

"And you want to talk about freaks, Dean? What about what I just did, huh? I killed a demon with_ my thoughts_, Dean," Sam huffed a humorless, slightly wretched laugh, "I think I win the most dangerous fucking monster of the year award,"

"Sammy..." Dean croaked, emotionally stunted and unsure.

"Don't," Sam closed his eyes, letting out a pained breath, "Point is Dean, I have no right or will to kill you. Castiel didn't seem to have a problem with it, and I think we can say that means something, considering that he's an Angel,"

"But..."

"No, Dean. I love you, but if you go down that road, I'll go all freaky on your ass and throw you _and_ the Impala into the ocean," Sam threatened, fully intending to make good on it if Dean thought he could force the subject further.

"Touch the Impala and suffer," Dean scowled, crossing his arms with the childish retort.

"Then don't make me," Sam glared, vaguely seeing their situation as a reminiscent moment from their childhood.

And just like that, Dean's resolve and his serious mood broke, laughing at their antics. Sam smiled too, seeing the silliness of it all even in the midst of their predicaments.

It was hard to keep angsting twenty-four seven, after all.

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	22. Out of the Frying Pan

Author's Note:

Hey all! Hope you've all hated this little hiatus in the show as much as I have! And I hope you like the crossover, its necessary to the plot line. But don't worry, this is a SAM/DEAN fic, no Sam/FC here.

Any way, thanks to all of you that have reviewed and favorited/alerted me, I always love getting those emails. Can't wait for tomorrow to come so we can see the next chapter in _Supernatural_.

Oh, and did anyone else think that Sam was insanely hot when he took down all those demons and Famine? You can really tell that Jared likes playing Evil Sam. It was awesome!

You know the drill. Read and Review, don't forget to enjoy!!!

**Chapter Twenty One: Out of the Frying Pan and Into the Witch's Brew**

Dean, in all honesty, had yet to fully accept his new self. He put up a brave front, as always, jokingly suggesting that he should be practicing with Sam the next time they went to Missouri's. When Sam said that was a good idea seriously, Dean had paled slightly. He agreed, as long as it was Sam who was showing him the ropes (he really like Missouri and all, but he was scared to death of her and her damned spatula, not that he would admit that out loud,) and Sam began to teach him.

It was strange how these powers had influenced them, and their bond. Finally, for once in his life, Dean had to completely depend on Sam. Even he could tell the difference between having his brother watching his back and having Sam teach him about his powers. He often wondered if their father was rolling over in his grave for what had happened to his children, but he pushed those thoughts aside whenever they decided to spring up on him. They were still hunting, they didn't use their powers on humans, and they didn't suddenly have the urge to destroy mankind or the Earth as a whole. Of course, an unexpected side effect of Dean's burgeoning powers was huge influx in pranking between them, but it made them both laugh harder than they had in years.

Almost healing in a way, acting like they were still teenagers between hunts, letting go of the past as much as they could without even realizing it. Four successful hunts later, and they were both feeling lighter and were ready to quit worrying about the nagging little voice in the back of their minds that said that the worst had yet to come, when Cas showed up again.

He appeared after Dean had finished his shower in their musty hotel room, Sam sitting on the bed and pouring over his laptop.

Appeared out of fucking nowhere, too.

Dean shouted out his surprise, Sam reaching instinctively reached for the gun on the end table before they both recognized who it was.

"Cas, seriously, we're gonna maim you one day and it won't be our fault that you sneak up on us. We're hunters, not dumb ass kids in a horror flick. Use the damn door next time," Dean warned indignantly, looking ready to wring the angel's neck.

"I will attempt to warn you before I come, then," Cas kind of promised, which made Dean glare harder. Sam rolled his eyes, having gotten over the surprise.

"Whatcha here for this time?" He asked lazily, closing his laptop.

"There are some innocents in California that need protecting," Cas replied promptly, ignoring Dean's annoyance completely. Dean rubbed a hand over his eyes.

"Body guards? Not our usual thing Cas. I mean, we've had to get past them plenty of times, but..." Dean shook his head. "Where in California?"

"San Francisco," Cas said. "This is the address, or where you can contact them. They own a night club there,"

"Awesome," Dean sounded excited, and Sam was suddenly very wary.

"What are their names? How many?" Sam asked.

"There are three of them, witches-" Cas started to explain.

"WHAT! Cas, please tell me you're joking? Last witch we dealt with gave us rashes for like a month, almost killed us, and you want us to _protect _three of them?!" Dean and Sam colored slightly at the reminder. A rash on your thighs was not something you could explain to a potential conquest or anybody without being both thoroughly embarrassed and run off.

"These are good witches; they fight for the good in people. I know that you have only encountered evil, demon-summoning kinds before, but they are certainly different," Cas assured them, using the same monotone he always did.

"Okay, so why can't they protect themselves?" Sam asked, not liking this anymore than Dean.

"Demons are after them, there is a bounty on their lives and they are not used to dealing with demons of the class you know," Cas said.

"Fan-freakin'-tastic," Dean muttered pulling on his boxers and throwing the towel away. "Fine, we'll see what we can do. But if we get another hit on a hunt while we're there, we can't ignore it," Dean consented with the condition. When he turned back around, Cas was gone, and there was a slip of paper on the coffee table in front of the couch.

"Son of a bitch," Dean growled, "I'm beginning to feel like he doesn't really like us,"

"That couldn't be because you yell at him every time he comes to us you yell at him," Sam huffed a laugh, "And doesn't really ever have good news for us, you know,"

Dean frowned, and threw a pillow at Sam as he crawled into bed. "Get some sleep. We'll head out in the morning,"

Sam complied, tugging off his jeans and shirt before turning off the bedside lamp and snuggled under the covers. He had a feeling, probably same as Dean, that this job would be tedious to say the least.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They arrived in San Fran at six p.m., and were currently driving around in circles looking for the club that Phoebe, Piper, and Paige owned. Dean had snickered at the three names, and Sam had to wonder at the affinity that the girls' parents must have had with that particular letter of the alphabet.

They ended up checking into motel before they found the place, P3, of all things. After getting carded (policy for anyone who comes, not just those who look like kids) the boys headed into the club that was pulsing with live music from the opposite end of the club.

"What now?" Dean asked loudly near Sam's ear.

"I don't know, Cas didn't give us any pictures to go by. Maybe check by the bar or something?" Dean nodded and Sam went to do a round of the club to see where the exits were and if he could hear anything interesting. He smiled at some of the dancers and people lounging on the cushy chairs lining the walls in groups when they checked him out, trying not to feel too out of place in the heady atmosphere. He was glad that it was obviously a smoke-free club, or he might not have been able to breathe at all.

Dean texted him that the bar was a bust and Sam replied that he should keep looking, Sam needed some fresh air. Dean acknowledged that he got the text and Sam headed for the back entrance.

The night air was just beginning to edge with marine layer mist from the bay. Everything was peaceful for a moment or two while he thought of a way to catch the witch's attention without getting castrated or killed, but then he turned to the side and looked down the alley as he heard a sound.

On the side of the dumpster furthest from Sam, two shadowed figures bent over the metal trash bin. In the position they were in, Sam was already embarrassingly flushing and turning back to open the back door and duck back inside when he heard one of them speak.

"Stop... please..."

The woman's voice was so broken, so raw that when Sam looked back again, he knew exactly what was happening.

And he snapped.

He didn't even call out for the man holding the woman down to stop before his power flexed and threw the offender, the scum bag, away and then slammed him bodily into the wall.

"You son of a bitch." He growled lowly, his voice cold and biting. "Give me one reason why you should be allowed to live." He demanded.

The man sputtered, struggling uselessly. "What's your problem asshole?"

The gun from Sam's waist band pressed to the man's throat, and he cocked the hammer loudly. "That's not an answer."

"He-hey, man, she was teasing me all night-"

"You disgusting piece of trash. I give you one chance to apologize, and all you can do is make false excuses. You're not worth the air you breathe," Sam pressed hard enough that the metal actually choked the man. Then he pulled away suddenly and the rapist crumpled to the ground coughing before turning to run. Sam didn't think twice. Using his power almost unconsciously, he turned the man's neck sharply until it broke, almost hard enough that his head almost twisted off.

Sam had to resist going over and throttling the man's still-warm corpse. Instead, he focused on the woman shivering on the ground next to the dumpster. He knelt slowly beside her.

"Hey," Sam said, gently, but loud enough not to be mistaken.

Her vacant eyes found him, and he had to stop himself from reaching out to hug her. Her make-up was smudged and ran slightly down her cheeks, dark hair falling and knotting from the bun she had fixed it in. He held out his hand, trying to convey as much comfort and empathy as he could remember from his training.

"I'll take you somewhere safe, take you home." He promised as she stared at the proffered hand. Somewhere through her hazy, shocked state, she seemed to understand and carefully reached for his steady fingers. He grasped her hand firmly, helping her to her feet. Sam pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around her, adjusting her closes as much as he could. She whimpered softly, and he picked her up under her knees and shoulders. She hugged her arms immediately around his neck, pulling him closer, as if she could bury herself in his comforting heat and support.

"My name is Sam," He told her softly, as if it were a secret.

"Phoebe," she replied, "No hospitals..."

"Alright," He agreed gently, "I'll just take you home," Sam pulled the information from her mind quickly when she didn't say anymore. Phoebe slumped in his hold, his shirt dampening with tears that she probably did not even know she was crying.

"Don't worry," He assured her absently, "I'll protect you," And he began to walk to her house, which was much closer than he would have guessed. Somehow he managed to tell Dean where he was going and tell him to keep looking without him, using their psychic connection to communicate.


	23. The Hallowells

**Chapter Twenty-Two: The Hallowell's**

It was difficult, but he still managed to ring the doorbell with Phoebe in his arms relatively undisturbed, not that it would matter in a few moments. There was the sound of two pairs of footsteps, one heavy sounding and the other lighter, but wearing heels on the wooded floor. Voices drifted out from the house before the door was opened.

"... what I've been telling you, Leo. It's not something that we know how to deal wit-" A woman with long, straight black hair and brown eyes took in Sam and Phoebe. The man behind her had short, slightly spiked hair with blue eyes and a five o'clock shadow. Both were too stunned to move for long seconds before they sprung into action.

"Phoebe! Oh my God- What happened?" Sam moved forward as he was ushered in and moved from the entry hallway into a sitting room with a large couch. Sam attempted to gently lay the woman in his arms onto the couch, but she clung tighter and he could not bring himself to try harder. Phoebe had obviously found a safe haven in his arms, and he knew what it felt like not to have that comfort after something so traumatic.

"She- I was taking a break in the alley behind the club and... I found her out there with another man assaulting her... I would have taken her to the hospital, but she told me to come here," Sam explained in as steady a voice he could manage, sitting himself down on the couch and resting Phoebe's head in the crook of his shoulder. The woman with black hair kneel in front of him and stroked Phoebe's forehead gently.

"Assaulted?" Sam looked up to the man with blue eyes, seeing him, really, for the first time.

"Yes, she can tell you what happened later, but I got there too late to stop anything but I did get the guy away from her..." He looked over the man in front of him slowly, sensing and seeing something strange. It was like there was a residual light glowing from with in the blue-eyed man, similar to what he could see in Castiel, but much more muted.

"Who are you?" the man seemed just as interested in Sam as Sam was in him. Sam wondered what the angelic man could see in him to prompt the wariness in his eyes.

"Sam Winchester. You?"

"Oh, God, I'm sorry. I'm Piper, and this is my husband Leo," Piper broke from her daze. "I'm Phoebe's older sister."

Sam nodded, easily recognizing the protective nature so similar to Dean's when Sam had been hurt or sick. He saw Leo's hands fidget slightly in the corner of his eye, as if he wanted to move to help Phoebe, but Leo kept glancing nervously at Sam and stopping himself from moving from where he stood.

Sam breathed deeply, feeling the energy in the house, in the people around him, and felt for the first time that his meeting Phoebe the way he did was anything but a coincidence. He decided to break the ice.

"Can you heal her?" He asked Leo, whose eyes widened.

"Yes- but- " Leo sputtered. He moved forward anyway, his hands hovering over Phoebe's body in slow circles as they glowed intensely under the palms.

"How did you know that he could?" Piper asked, her jaw tightening and she looked for the entire world like she was about to snatch Phoebe from his arms. She probably would have, had Phoebe not had a death grip locked around his neck.

"I've seen someone similar to him before. I'm psychic," And wow, _that_ sounded weird coming out for the first time.

"Psychic?" Piper sounded curious.

Sam nodded, "You're a witch, right?"

"Yes," Piper said, her tone fading back into caution. "Why were at the club?"

"Truthfully? I was looking for you, with my brother," Sam said, shifting a little as Phoebe squirmed uncomfortably.

Obviously, that statement did little to placate Piper and Leo, so he quickly continued, "We were told that you would need our help by a friend, Castiel-"

"Castiel?" Leo looked at Sam sharply, "An angel told you that we needed your help?"

"Angel? Do they have a white-lighter too?" Piper asked.

"No, Piper, an Angel of the Lord. He is a warrior, and he was never human like me." Leo explained.

"Whoa..." Piper said. "Well, we need all the help we can get normally, what's so different about now?"

"Castiel didn't say, but apparently you need the help of two hunters." Sam answered.

XXXXXXX

"I can't believe this..." Piper sighed, rubbing a hand over her forehead and resting against Wyatt's playpen.

"I know that you're shaken Piper, but we have to support Phoebe as much as we can. She's not going to bounce back from this as easily as usual." Leo said, wrapping his arms around her from behind, looking down at his boy. Both parents were calmed by watching him, but felt unsettled about the fact that this world was around their child.

"I just don't really know if we can trust him alone with her..." she leaned into the embrace.

"I'm sorry for what happened," Dean said, "But Sam is probably the best person for her to be with right now,"

"I'm sorry for what happened," Dean said, a little annoyed that they were distrusting to the man who had saved their sister. "But Sam is probably the best person for her to be with right now,"

"What do you mean?" Leo asked, "Is he a trained counselor or psychologist?"

Dean looked more than uncomfortable, kicking himself for opening his big mouth. He didn't know whether to laugh at the notion that _Sam_ of all people could be an emotion-handler for _other_ people, or rage that that wasn't the reason he was more qualified than any of them to help Phoebe.

He took a deep breath, deciding to tell them the truth. Cas wouldn't have sent them here if these people weren't trustworthy, he figured.

"Sam was raped when he was fifteen," He said, looking the parents in the eye.

Piper looked horrified, and Leo looked down and away, knowing they probably shouldn't have pushed Sam's brother into telling them. He could see that Sam and Dean were good souls, despite some scarring and darkness that shadowed some of their light.

"I'm-I'm sorry," she whispered.

"I don't think that you could be sorrier than I am, I should have watched him better. We were are we had, still are, even before Dad died, and it's partly my fault. Hell, I didn't even know until a month or so ago." Dean sat down heavily on the couch and felt his brother's presence looming closer, even before he heard the steps on the stairs. "Just don't worry, he got through it, and we're both stronger now, we'll be able to help you." He reassured moments before Sam came back into the room.

"She's sleeping." He announced, looking around until he saw the playpen. Wyatt was looking straight at Sam, dropping the toy he had been playing with. The toddler crawled to the edge of the crib and lifted his arms, soundlessly asking to be let out. Piper picked him up, and let him stand back down on the carpet. The kid never took his eyes off of Sam, and he walked straight up to the 6'5'' man, and Sam knelt in front of him.

"Sam?" Dean asked, not sure what was happening, but he felt the connection between Wyatt and his brother.

"Hello," Sam wasn't paying attention to anyone else. Wyatt didn't answer him, holding out his tiny hand instead. Sam held out his large hand, and Wyatt clenched to of the big fingers in his hold. They both paused, and then Wyatt let out a happy shriek, frantically shaking Sam's hand and laughing, like he had found his newest favorite toy or best friend. Sam smiled, looking at everyone else in the room, just as perplexed.

"So, this is Wyatt? He's a pretty special kid, isn't he?" Sam finally spoke. Wyatt held out both of his arms, making grabbing motions with his fingers, and Sam picked him up. It was the tallest that Wyatt had ever been, and he was deliriously happy.

Piper smiled fondly at her son's action, not at all phased with his sudden mood changes. "Yeah, we all think so. He seems to like you a lot,"

Sam nodded, at a loss. "He's going to be pretty powerful when he grows up,"

"That's what everyone's been saying." Leo smiled as well, looking at Sam with sympathy and new affection. Anyone his son liked this much right off the bat obviously couldn't be too bad at all. Dean stood and chuckled at the toddler's enthusiasm for Sam's attention. Wyatt turned to him in Sam's arms and frowned a little at the older Winchester, then smiled just as brightly as he had at Sam and reached for Dean.

Sam handed the youngest Hallowell to Dean as Dean held out his arms for the small blond child. Wyatt squirmed and screeched under Dean's attack to his sensitive belly, holding to Dean and breathlessly struggling.

"I remember when Gigantor here was as pint-sized as you, dude," Wyatt laughed harder at the jibe to Sam, as if he understood. "Hard to believe now, though. Hopefully you don't grow as big as him, or you'll scare all the girls away,"

Everyone laughed at Sam's indignant, "Hey!" and a new bond was formed between the two families. Whatever wicked deeds were being plotted against them, it was apparent that they could face it, as the first time in history two Hunters would work with three Witches.


	24. A Witchy Threesome

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Witchy Threesome (and not the good kind)**

"I'm home!" Paige yelled from the entryway, and everyone in the living room stopped laughing and turned to the arch that led to the hall.

"Man it was rough at the school today," the red head sighed, walking into the living room with her eyes down until she saw some boots that she did not recognize. Her green orbs followed the long, long legs up to the long torso and they had to keep going skyward until she had to tilt her neck back to look at the unfamiliar face.

The very handsome face.

"Wow," was all she could come up with, and the face smiled a little self deprecatingly.

"Yeah, I get that a lot. Why did I have to be a giant?"

"It's the only way your body would be able to support that big brain of yours," Paige turned her gaze to another quite tall male, and then to her nephew in his arms.

"Jerk,"

"You know you love me."

"Hey Paige," Piper said, smiling at the brother's banter. She hoped that she would have more kids one day, so that Wyatt would not be lonely. "This is Sam and Dean; they're here to help us,"

"You mean they're not my birthday presents? Damn." Paige pouted, only half sarcastically.

"I'll still be your present, sweetheart," Dean smirked, eyes looking over Paige appreciatively. Sam smacked the back of his head.

"Ow!"

"Sorry, never could take him anywhere nice," Sam glared at Dean, taking Wyatt back from him.

"Hey!" Dean was indignant, "Who raised you?"

"You're not gonna go on about how you changed my dipers and that I should forever be grateful, are you?" Sam groaned back.

"Hell yeah!" Dean quipped back, "You should be thankful I didn't drop you on your head with all the whining you did."

"And I should thank you by letting you harass all the girls we come in contact with?" Sam raised an eyebrow.

"No, you should thank me by not griping about the hotels we have to stay in and the food we eat. Besides, it's not harassment if they enjoy it," Dean defended his 'friendly' habits.

"You see what I have to put up with?" Sam jokingly asked Wyatt, who had been looking back and forth between them with a wide smile as they continued their tennis-like banter. "Still, we're here to help them, not look for your next conquest,"

"Business with pleasure, Sammy, you could learn a thing or two-"

"Boys!" Piper interjected, exasperated.

"Sorry," The brothers looked down, bashful and thinking about how their father had been the only one to have used that tone with them before. Piper came and took Wyatt back from Sam, shaking her head.

Paige giggled, "So where is Phoebe? I'm sure she'd love to meet these two,"

The mood, understandably, sobered.

"Oh, Paige..." Piper sighed, ashamed at how willingly her mind allowed itself to wonder.

"What did I say?" Paige frowned.

XXXXXXXXX

The last sister was clued in and Sam checked on Phoebe again before telling the others in the living room that the one who had attacked Phoebe was long gone. And that it had been a demon of Winchester caliber.

"What?" Paige asked, as dumbfounded as the other two in the room.

"The demons that we have fought for most of our lives are different from the ones you're used to, its no wonder that Phoebe was unable to defend herself from it." Dean said, sighing. He had noticed the building tension in Sam's shoulders dissipate when Dean had told him about the sulfur traces he had found around the dead body. Sam had been so out of it with rage that he had not noticed the demon possession.

"How different?" Piper asked wearily, squeezing Leo's hand on her shoulder.

"These demons, almost all of them, were once human. And they don't come from the underworld, they come from Hell." Sam said.

"There's a difference?" Paige asked, and Sam and Dean both, quite noticeably, shuddered and tensed.

"You've been to the underworld?"

"Yeah..." Paige said, like it was no big deal. It wasn't too different from earth in the medieval times, in her opinion.

"Believe me, if it had been hell, you wouldn't have been able to disregard it that quickly," Sam said with a clenched jaw and haunted eyes. He shook his head and continued on with the conversation, knowing that it didn't help to dwell on his time in the Pit. "You guys must have something that they want, that was why Phoebe was attacked."

"Then they're probably after the book, just like every other evil thing that has come after us," Piper sighed.

"Your Book of Shadows?" Dean asked cautiously. Really, they had had way too much experience with bad witches.

"Yes," She said.

"No," Castiel said, standing behind the couch.

"Fuck, Cas!" Dean jumped up, "What have we said about doors?"

"To use them," Castiel replied tonelessly, "But there is no time. From what I have heard, they are after a weapon, not a Book of Shadows,"

"What kind of weapon, Cas?" Sam breathed out, letting go of his near-stroke panic.

"Um, who is he?" Paige asked.

"Here we go again," Dean sat down for another story-telling session.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Three hours later, five minutes to one in the morning, everyone was filled in on the details. Sam and Dean were offered the two long couches in the living room and they accepted without protest. It had been a challenging day, to say the least.

Sam wasn't able to sleep, and looked in on Phoebe three more times that night. She slept, however fitfully, and he gave her as much comfort, physically and mentally, that he could, easing her dreams and smoothing her forehead. He could tell that he would not be able to sleep for a while, at least a week or so before he passed out from exhaustion. The next few weeks after he had been... been violated at fifteen, he did not sleep more than an hour or two at a time.

He cursed his weakness, for not being able to face what had happened to him at that time even though he had been through it again and again plenty of times in Hell, for not being there for Phoebe just ten minutes earlier... if he had only taken a break before....

He shook his head. What's done is done. He hated that phrase, but it had become his personal motto through the years.

In the dark of the night, he promised to protect this family, and every victim after them that he could. He promised to practice his powers and use them to their fullest extent, no matter the cost to him.

And he promised to never, no matter the circumstance, ever leave Dean again.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They had established that the demons were after a weapon, but unfortunately, Cas had no idea what kind or even a vague thought about what it could be except,

"Powerful," Castiel said as his hands hovered over the piles of clutter junk in the Hollowell's attic. "Extremely powerful. They need it to kill some threat, an old evil, they call it. I couldn't catch much from the talk between them as I listened in."

"That's reassuring, Cas," Dean said sarcastically, rummaging through a pile of his own, feeling useless. Sam sat next to Leo on the sole battered couch in the dusty attic, which really should have been airy given how much the sisters used it.

Phoebe had locked herself in her room, only letting Sam and sometimes her sisters in. She didn't talk and hardly ate, but Sam consoled the others as best he could, telling them that she would just need time to recover and their unwavering support. Dean had looked despondent as Sam gave them that little pep-talk, barely biting back his frustration at Sam for not telling him when he had been hurt.

His hackles rose exponentially higher when Sam had laid a hand on Paige's shoulder, squeezing for comfort. Dean chose not to question why that was. Just like when his eyes had burned with barley contained rage when Sam had been flirting with her the night before.

Nope, not thinking about it. Besides, it wasn't like Sam would actually pursue her or anything, not with the way he had been acting after Jess and Ben's death, after Darcy's. He just figured his new interest in Sam came from the training for his demonic powers, the changes his body had endured because of his little excursion to hell.

Dammit, no, he wasn't thinking about it!

Except… that it had been on his mind since before their separation, before Sam had even gone to Stanford…

And he was so fucked, it wasn't funny. Not even on a cosmically ironic level. The great womanizer Dean Winchester was harboring same sex tendencies for a man. And no, it couldn't be just any male swimsuit model or athlete; it had to be his brother.

Such was his life. He nearly had torn a box to shreds not thinking about it and just now noticed, too.

_Fuck my life_, Dean thought, his eyes flashing black before he quelled the demonic energy stirring in his mind. Sam, he saw out of the corner of his eye, was looking worriedly in his direction.

_Double fuck_, he cursed, and tried to act like his normal cocky self.

Just as he calmed himself, though, was when things got heated.

"Interesting little place you have here, Charmed ones," said a man in a black Armani suit, "And look who else is here? The Winchesters, just the men I wanted to see…"

_Cluster fuck_.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


	25. Born To Be King

**Chapter Twenty Four: Born to Be King**

Dean had the Colt trained on the demon as soon as he heard his voice. The suited bastard smirked with smugness as he looked down the long barrel of the special gun.

"Who are you?" Sam was beside his brother in an instant. Leo and the two sisters stood behind them, looking on warily.

"My name is Crowley, but that really has no bearing on why I'm here," Crowley said, standing with an ease that spoke of no fear or threat.

"It usually doesn't," Sam grit his teeth, "What do you want?"

"A secure future, truthfully," He inspected his nails, "The same that Azazel wanted, I know."

"Any friend of Azazel's is a kill order for us," Dean growled, cocking back the hammer on the Colt.

"Call off your dog, Sam, and let me talk," Crowley dropped the smirk and snarky attitude and was suddenly serious.

"We're not stopping you. And I repeat: What do you want?" Sam laid a calming hand on Dean's shoulder, conveying his feeling of caution and patience through the touch.

"I want to stop the Apocalypse," the demon said plainly.

"What?" came a voice from behind Sam and Dean. Whether Paige or Piper made the exclamation, no one was sure.

"The... the Apocalypse... How?" Sam raised an eyebrow. "And what could any of that possibly have to do with me or the sisters?"

"Everything to do with you and your brother, but only some to do with the Hallowell's, they are, after all, a force of good," Crowley said. "However, they have something that can be very useful to our cause, and that's the reason why the middle sister was attacked: to send a message that they are in over their heads on this one and to tred cautiously."

"_Our cause_?" Sam quoted, annoyed. "Why the hell do you think that we would work with you on anything?"

"And why couldn't Phoebe defend herself? She's a powerful witch," Piper added, her calm demeanor betrayed by the rage her body was shaking with.

"Questions, questions," Crowley shook his head in bemusement. "I can see we are in for a long chat."

The brothers shared a look.

_Damnit, how long do we have to deal with this bastard? Can't I kill him _now_?_ Dean asked in his head to Sam, and the younger brother had to fight to keep a smile off his face.

_Two Hours Later...  
_  
_Well, fuck,_ was the collective thought of everyone in the room, with the exception of Wyatt, who was currently contemplating whether or not he should orb some cookies in from the kitchen. When that abstract thought hit Sam's mind, he couldn't help but to spare a small grin to the child held tightly in his mother's arms, who giggled in return. The fact that the severity of the topic had no effect on the two year old was an amusing reprieve, but he shook himself back to the current situation when Dean spoke again.

"Let's see if I've got this right: Azazel, fifty years or so ago, found out that Lucifer, the _devil_, had a plan worked out to bust himself out of hell, and so he choose my little brother of all people, thirty years later, to lead a demonic army against the angels helping Lucy to prevent the Apocalypse out of what? The goodness of his demonically black heart? I'm not buying it."

"You shouldn't because that's not what I SAID." Crowley growled. "Azazel may have been a big bad evil demon, but he was over a thousand years old and he wasn't stupid like some of the younger demons today are. Lucifer is not a good thing for the future, for you or for the demons. He's just using those loyal to him until he gets what he wants and then he will wipe demons off the map completely, after humans of course." Crowley smiled cruelly. "So it's in everyone's best interest that we take him down now and not get ourselves butchered later."

"But why not wait until the humans are gone?" Leo interjected. "Wouldn't demons love to have the earth to themselves without priests or hunters to come after them?"

"Yes, well, I'm a crossroads demon, so if humans suddenly went extinct, I would be out of power and business. And I do so love my business," Crowley said. "So, that leaves me with a few demons I have under my control to work with, but there is an entire army that will follow Sam because of Azazel's influence if he agrees to take up the post. I don't care what you do afterwards, but right now, we're all in danger of being seriously fucked."

"Hey!" Piper said, trying to distract her son, "Children here," she hissed.

"Sorry, sorry," Crowley said patronizingly. "It really is a shame that he is a child though, the twice blessed one." Crowley sighed, "If all else fails, he could be the next real threat to Lucifer's plans... But let's not let it get that far, shall we?"

Sam took in everything that Crowley was saying with a grain of salt. It wasn't that hard to see that they were his last hope, even with the callous attitude that he boasted. And with Cas having sent them here, they probably didn't have much of a chance without Crowley's help either. Sam just hoped that with his and Dean's new powers growing as they were and with Cas's help, that they would be able to take control of the rising threat with as little casualty to humans and their morality as possible. Because really, how much would they have to sacrifice to prove to an army of demons that they were going to work together to take down Lucifer?

By the look on Dean's face, he didn't like the direction of Sam's thoughts as much as he didn't like the decision they were faced with. There really was no other option for them.

Never let it be said that the Winchesters didn't drive a hard bargain, though.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They got Cas in on the plan, but he frowned something fierce when he heard what Crowley was proposing.

"You are saying that angels and demons are working together to free Lucifer?" was the first thing he said.

"Is that really so surprising? He is your brother, after all," Crowley pointed out, and Castiel furrowed his eyebrows.

"Yes, but he betrayed everything that the angels were meant for when he questioned our Father..." Cas shook his head, "But it's not too hard to believe that the other angels might be aiding him, if they believe that the apocalypse is supposed to be instigated now."

"I really had hoped that we wouldn't be fighting the fucking angels on this one," Dean sighed harshly, looking suspiciously at Sam's carefully blank stare. "So, what do you think, Sammy?"

Sam blinked. "You're leaving this to me? I'd thought that you'd be all gun-ho to say fuck off to Crowley," Sam raised his eyebrow in askance.

"I'm not really the one who'll have to deal with all the uglies, now will I? I'm just worried what's gonna happen after we save the world and all these demons will be running around like its a bad slasher movie," Dean frowned, thinking about the possibilities.

Sam chuckled at the mental images Dean unknowingly sent him, and got a sad grin from Dean.

"I will stand and help you fight after Lucifer has been trapped again," Castiel declared, looking between the brothers with firm promise in his icy blue eyes.

"Sounds like an angel's blessing to me," Dean's smile turned genuine and he grasped Sam's shoulder.

Sam huffed a laughed and agreed, "I guess that means I'm the new leader of a demonic rebellion,"

"What could possibly go wrong in this situation?" Dean shook his head.

"Survey says: A whole fucking lot," Sam sighed out.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sorry for taking this long to update! Hope you like the direction it's going in, and I know that you're all waiting for the Sam/Dean thing to happen soon, but bear with me. In a couple of chapters, I swear its coming. No pun intended.

Really.

Please Review and tell me what you're thinking, cause it's about to get crazy.

~ IcyBlue ~


	26. The Sword and Club

**Chapter Twenty Five: The Sword and Club**

The brothers said their goodbyes under the annoyed watch of Crowley who stood at the end of the walkway to the house, proof that the protections Sam and Dean had set up against demons all over the manor were securely in place. Castiel had said that he would add wards against angels just in case, even if he seemed a little scandalized at the fact that his brothers and sisters might be working against humans. Sam was content to imagine that Crowley was stretching the truth about angelic involvement, not wanting to ponder the problems that warriors of light were going to pose otherwise.

Dean looked over at Sam from the corner of his eye. He huffed a small laugh. Apparently, the Hallowell's' weapon of choice was the sword in the stone, which they had had hidden in storage. After reeling from the possibility that the sword from the cheesy cartoon actually existed, he had broken down laughing, and Sam had been hard pressed to join in.

Until the tall guy actually was able to pull it from the huge rock in the living room. He had been confused at that point.

"How is this possible?" he had asked the room in general, "I mean, I'm not exactly chalk-full of light magic here."

Piper had shaken her head and looked to Leo, whose brows furrowed. "I think that the sword isn't so much a weapon for the 'light' side. If you're powerful enough to wield it, and you're not going to try and take over the world with it, it's not going to reject you."

Sam just shook his head and stared at the thing. He offered it to Dean, who grinned delightedly and swung it around like he was fighting an invisible foe. Sam smiled and laughed softly. At least someone was enjoying this little development.

Once they were back on the road, everything seemed to take on a darker perspective. Of course, it probably had a lot to do with the estranged demon lounging in the backseat.

"So, where are we going?" Sam asked their passenger.

"Chicago," Crowley said, "There's a hiding place in downtown that demons have used when they don't want to be found."

"Oh, joy. We get to join the secret club," Dean said with false enthusiasm.

"And if you want this war to end in a mostly undamaged way, I would suggest _keeping_ it a secret," Crowley stared pointedly at Dean, "Telling anyone else about the club would be a very poor mistake that you would undoubtedly pay for with anyone you've ever talked to, much less love,"

"Okay, no telling anyone about the Demonic Erotica club," Dean winced, knowing that Crowley was hardly exaggerating. "Are we just going there to spread the word or something?"

"Essentially, yes," Crowley said, checking his watch, "Once the demons that were par for Azazel's plans are informed of Sam's recruitment, the real preparations can begin."

"Preparations for a _demon army_," Dean shook his head, "I gotta tell ya, that gets funnier every time I hear it," He looked into the review mirror to see the demon's reaction, but scowled when he saw no one was there.

"Why do they always do that?" Dean growled, annoyed by the repetitive absences seemingly in the middle of every conversation they had with demons and angels.

"Must be a supernatural thing," Sam said, perfectly in tune to Dean's references and thoughts. They shared a smirk before spending the rest of the trip to Chicago practicing Dean's psychic skills.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When they reached the club front, they had a hard time convincing Castiel to wait for them in the car. Explaining why it was a bad idea for an angel to follow into a demonically inclined inhabited club without telling Castiel about the demons themselves proved to be more difficult than Sam or Dean had expected. But, they had made a promise not to (even if it was under the premise of a threat,) and they were going to hold themselves to it.

"I tried giving you the gift of sex once Cas, and you made the girl cry." Dean finally pointed out. "We need for this chick to give us some information, and she's a hooker too. Just let us handle it this time,"

He saw reason, thankfully. With Cas tucked safely, albeit almost pouting in the back of the Impala, the brothers made their way inside.

When they passed the second set of double doors into the loud, bass pumping club, Sam couldn't hold his laugh any longer.

"Seriously, Dean? You actually tried to get an _angel_ laid?" Sam grinned broadly at the blush on Dean's face, still chortling, "Do we need to have a talk about what's real life and what's porn again?"

"Ah, fuck you!" Dean smacked him on the shoulder roughly, trying to hold in his own laugh at the memory of that sexy girl actually running from Cas.

"Where do you think we're supposed to go now?" Sam asked, looking around and using his height to his advantage.

"Knowing Crowley, he's probably kicked up his heels in some back VIP room," Dean rolled his eyes. He spotted a bar at the other end of the room and nodded his head in that direction, gesturing for Sam to follow him. Once they sat at the bar, the tender had two beers placed in front of them before either could say a word.

"On the house," The man smirked, looking at each of them in turn, "You're going to need them before you deal with Crowley again,"

The bottles were unopened, which was probably the only reason that Dean picked one up at all, twisting the cap off with his ring like he always did. "I take it you know who we are," he raised a brow.

"The boy-king and his faithful half-demon dog," The demon bartender full-out grinned at the twin glares he received. "Of course. Crowley's upstairs in the last room at the end of the hall. I'll probably be seeing you there soon," The demon waved a hand at the staircase behind the bar to the left. He left them then to fill another drink order at the opposite end of the bar where two girls were smiling coyly. Dean's gaze traveled over their bodies, and the red-head winked at him, her own eyes trailing heatedly over Dean's form. He smiled back, but returned his beer without pursuing the invitation.

"Dude," he heard from beside him, "What was that?"

Dean turned to Sam and took in his expression: a raised eyebrow and a pointed look to where the girls had been.

"What?"

"Nothing," Sam said sarcastically, looking down at his own beer for a moment, "Just didn't think you had it in you to pass them up."

Dean smacked him on the shoulder for the comment, shaking his head. "We're not here to get some nooky." Dean tried to shrug it off; not wanting to tell Sam the real reason was sitting right beside him sharing a beer.

"Doesn't seem to matter, usually," Sam smiled at Dean, exasperated, affectionate. He laughed at Dean's expression and took a long drink himself.

A few minutes later, they abandoned the beers and walked to the stairway, where a buff mountain of a man looked them up and down before letting them through. The stairs were metal, clunking annoyingly even over the loud music. They bypassed all the other doors on either side of them until they got to the end of the hall, when the knocked bracingly on the heavy wood door.

They really should have prepared themselves more for what might have been lurking inside. The door was pushed aside to reveal Crowley sitting on a plush deep red couch on the opposite side of the room, but that wasn't too out of the ordinary. The gigantic bed just to the right of the couch with the four… no wait… _six_ writhing bodies was what really drew their attention, arousal and abject horror at watching demons do the… well, _nasty_.

"Hello, boys. Enjoying the show?" Crowley smirked in his trademark attitude.

"If you mean in that sort of 'can't look away' thing…" Dean squinted a little before drawing back, "Shit, there's seven of them, they keep appearing out of nowhere!"

Sam flinched at a particularly drawn out moan and exaggerated twist of one body. He finally was able to shake his gaze away from the hellish porno. He didn't think that was physically possible, and felt a few muscles in his back twinge in sympathy for the mortal the demon was possessing.

"Alright Crowley, we're here, now tell us what else we have to do," Sam winced at another noise that came from the bed. He noticed that Dean was barely paying attention to anything else, staring openly at the nude demons.

"I'll give you kudos for being focused, boy." Crowley hummed and stole a glace towards the bed. He put down his no doubt expensive scotch and turned back to Sam. "And really, you don't have to do anything. You're here, that's all that matters."

Sam cocked his head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"All I needed to gather demons here under your command was to bring you here. You have quite the presence, Sam." Crowley grinned, "And all the demons can feel it. They know a leader when they sense one."

Sam didn't know how to react to that, emotionally or logically. He knew that he had gained power and ability, more than he could really comprehend or use, but it always struck him how much it affected others. He put it aside for the moment, reminding himself to practice containing his aura more, later.

"Then, what next?" he said instead.

"Well, for now, all I can say is to enjoy the night." Crowley said, leaning back into the cushions and grasping his drink again. At Sam's blank expression, he rolled his eyes, "Relax, have some fun! It's a good dark place for sinning and letting it all go," He gestured to the atmosphere and the club around them.

It was Sam's turn to roll his eyes, but he nodded to show he understood before grapping his brother's arm, who was still entranced by the porno in the corner, and dragging them to the door. Crowley said as they left that he would be in touch soon.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


End file.
